m 


'•)  •,' 


JUg 


CALIFORNIA 


LIBRARY    OF   THE    UNIVERSITY   OF   CALIFORNIA 


LIBRARY    OF   TM 


95.6 


CALIFORNIA 


LIBRARY    OF   THE    UNIVERSITY   OF   CALIFORNIA          LIBRARY    OF   TH 


CALIFORNIA 


LIBRARY    OF   THE    UNIVERSITY   OF   CALIFORNIA 


286&J 
•..,.......•• 

LIBRARY   OF   TH 


OF   CALIFORNIA          LIBRARY    OF   THE    UNIVERSITY   OF   CALIFORNIA          LIBRARY    OF 


OF   CALIFORNIA          LIBRARY    OF   THE    UNIVERSITY   OF   CALIFORNIA          LIBRARY    OF 


OF   CALIFORNIA          LIBRARY    OF   THE    UNIVERSITY   OF   CALIFORNIA          LIBRARY    OF 


THE  TIDINGS 
BROUGHT  TO 

M  A  R  Y  :  ^  <wystery :  % 

PAUL  MCLAUDEL  :  Translated  from 
the  French  by  LOUISE  MORGAN  SILL 


NEW  HAVEN,  CONNECTICUT 
YALE  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 
MDCCCCXVI 


COPYRIGHT,  IQl6,  BY 
YALE  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 


First  published,  June,  1916 


343524 


» 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

PROLOGUE  I 

ACT   I  27 

ACT   II  59 

ACT   III  93 

ACT   IV  134 


Prologue 


The  barn  at  Combernon.  It  is  a  lofty  edifice,  with 
square  pillars  that  support  a  vaulted  roof.  It  is  empty 
except  for  the  right  wing,  which  is  still  filled  with  straw; 
and  straws  are  scattered  about  on  the  floor,  which  is  of 
well-trampled  earth.  At  the  back  is  a  large  double 
door  in  the  thick  wall,  with  complicated  bars  and  bolts. 
On  the  valves  of  the  door  are  painted  rude  images  of  St. 
Peter  and  St.  Paul,  one  holding  the  keys,  the  other  the 
sword.  The  scene  is  lighted  by  a  large  yellow  wax 
candle  in  an  iron  socket  fastened  to  one  of  the  pillars. 

The  scenes  of  the  drama  take  place  at  the  close  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  seen  conventionally,  as  medieval  poets 
might  have  imagined  classic  antiquity. 

The  time  is  night,  merging  into  the  hours  of  dawn. 

Enter,  on  a  heavy  horse,  a  man  wearing  a  black 
cloak,  and  with  a  leathern  bag  on  the  horse9 s  croup 
behind  him,  PIERRE  DE  CRAON.  His  gigantic  shadow 
moves  across  the  wall,  the  floor,  the  pillars. 

Suddenly ,  from  behind  a  pillar,  VIOLAINE  steps  out 
to  meet  him.  She  is  tall  and  slender,  and  her  feet  are 
bare.  Her  gown  is  of  coarse  woollen  stuff,  and  upon 
her  head  is  a  linen  coif  at  once  peasant-like  and 
monastic. 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

VIOLAINE  (laughingly  raising  her  hands  toward  him, 

with    the  forefingers    crossed) :     Halt,    my    lord 

cavalier!  /Dismount^ 

PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  Violaine!     (He  gets  off  the  horse. 
VIOLAINE:    Softly,  Master  Pierre!   Is  that  the  way 

one  leaves  the  house,  like  a  thief  without  an 

honest  greeting  to  the  ladies  ? 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  Violaine,  take  yourself  off.     It  is 

the  dead  of  night,  and  we  are  here  alone,  the 

two  of  us. 
And  you  know  that  I  am  not  such  a  very  safe 

man. 
VIOLAINE  :   I  am  not  afraid  of  you,  mason !    A  man 

is  not  wicked  merely  because  he  wants  to  be! 
And  a  man  doesn't  do  with  me  just  as  he  wills! 
Poor  Pierre!    You  did  not  even  succeed  in  killing 

me 
With  your  wretched  knife!    Nothing  but  a  little 

snick  on  my  arm  which  nobody  has  seen. 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:   Violaine,  you  must  forgive  me. 
VIOLAINE  :  It  is  for  that  I  came. 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  You  are  the  first  woman  I  ever 

laid  hands  on.    The  devil,  who  always  seizes  his 

chance,  took  possession  of  me. 
VIOLAINE:    But  you  found  me  stronger  than  him. 
PIERRE    DE    CRAON:    Violaine,    I    am    even    more 

dangerous  now  than  I  was  then. 
VIOLAINE  :  Must  we  then  fight  once  more  ? 


PROLOGUE 


PIERRE  DE  CRAON:   Even  my  very  presence  here  is 

baleful.  (Silence. 

VIOLAINE  :  I  don't  know  what  you  mean. 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:    Had  I  not  my  work?    Stones 

enough  to  choose  and  gather,  wood  enough  to 

join,  and  metals  to  melt  and  mould. 
My  own  work,  that   suddenly  I   should  lay  an 

impious  and  lustful  hand  on  the  work  of  another, 

a  living  being? 
VIOLAINE:   In  my  father's  house,  the  house  of  your 

host !  Lord !  what  would  they  have  said  if  they 

had  known?    But  I  concealed  it  well. 
And  they  all  take  you  for  a  sincere  and  blameless 

man,  just  as  they  did  before. 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  Under  appearances,  God  judges 

the  heart. 

VIOLAINE  :  We  three  then  will  guard  the  secret. 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  Violaine! 
VIOLAINE:   Master  Pierre? 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:    Stand  there  near  the  candle 

that  I  may  see  you  well. 

(She   stands,   smiling,   under   the   candle.     He 

looks  a  long  while  at  her. 

VIOLAINE :  Have  you  looked  at  me  long  enough? 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:    Who  are  you,  young  girl,  and 

what  part  in  you  has  God  reserved  to  himself. 
That  the  hand  which  touches  you  with  fleshly 

desire  should  in  that  same  instant  be  thus 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

Withered,  as  if  it  had  approached  too  near  the 

mystery  of  his  dwelling-place? 
VIOLAINE:    What  has  happened  to  you,  then,  since 

last  year? 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:    The  very  next  day  after  that 

one  you  remember  .  .  . 
VIOLAINE:  Well--? 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:    I   discovered  in  my  side  the 

horrible  scourge. 

VIOLAINE:   The  scourge,  you  say?    What  scourge? 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:    Leprosy,  the  same  we  read  of 

in  the  book  of  Moses. 
VIOLAINE:   What  is  leprosy? 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:    Have  you  never  heard  of  the 

woman  who  lived  alone  among  the  rocks  of  the 

Geyn. 
Veiled  from  head  to  foot,  and  with  a  rattle  in  her 

hand  ? 

VIOLAINE:  That  malady,  Master  Pierre? 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:   Such  a  scourge  it  is 
That  he  who  has  it  in  its  most  malicious  form 
Must  be  set  apart  at  once, 
For  there  is  no  living  man  so  healthy  that  leprosy 

cannot  taint  him. 
VIOLAINE  :  Why,  then,  are  you  still  at  liberty  among 

us? 

PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  The  Bishop  gave  me  a  dispensa- 
tion, and  you  must  know  how  few  people  I  see, 

4 


PROLOGUE 


Except  my  workmen  to  give  them  orders,  and  my 

malady  is  as  yet  secret  and  concealed. 
And,  were  I  not  there,  who  would  give  away  those 
new-born  churches  whom  God  has  confided  to 
my  care,  on  their  wedding-day? 
VIOLAINE:    Is  that  why  nobody  has  seen  you  this 

time  at  Combernon? 

PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  I  could  not  avoid  returning  here, 
Because  it  is  my  duty  to  open  the  side  of  Mon- 

sanvierge 

And  to  unseal  the  wall  for  each  new  flight  of 
doves  that    seek   entrance   into  the  high  Ark 
whose  gates  may  only  open  toward  heaven! 
And  this  time  we  led  to  the  altar  an  illustrious 

victim,  a  solemn  censer, 
The  Queen  herself,  mother  of  the  King,  ascending 

in  her  own  person, 
For  her  son  deprived  of  his  kingdom. 
And  now  I  return  to  Rheims. 
VIOLAINE:   Maker  of  doors,  let  me  open  this  one 

for  you. 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:    Was  there  no  one  else  at  the 

farm  to  do  me  this  service? 
VIOLAINE:  The  servant  likes  to  sleep,  and  willingly 

gave  me  the  keys. 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:    Have  you  no  fear  or  horror  of 

the  leper? 
VIOLAINE  :  There  is  God,  He  knows  how  to  protect  me. 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  Give  me  the  key,  then. 
VIOLAINE:   No.    Let  me.    You  do  not  understand 

the  working  of  these  old  doors. 
[Indeed !  Do  you  take  me  for  a  dainty  damsel 
Whose  taper  fingers  are  used  to  nothing  rougher 
than  the  spur,  light  as  the  bone  of  a  bird,  that 
arms  the  heel  of  her  new  knight  ? 
You  shall  seejj 

(She  turns  the  keys  in  the  two  grinding  locks 

and  draws  the  bolts. 

PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  This  iron  is  very  rusty. 
VIOLAINE:    The  door  is  no  longer  used.     But  the 
road  is  shorter  this  way. 

(She  strains  at  the  bar. 
I  have  opened  the  door! 
PIERRE    DE    CRAON:    What    could    resist    such   an 

assailant  ? 
What  a  dust!   the  old  valve  from  top  to  bottom 

creaks  and  moves, 

The  black  spiders  run  away,  the  old  nests  crumble, 
and  the  door  at  last  opens  from  the  centre. 

(The  door  opens;    through  the  darkness  can 
be  seen  the  meadows  and  the  harvest.     A 
feeble  glimmer  in  the  east. 
VIOLAINE:    This    little    rain    has    done    everybody 

good. 

PIERRE  DE  CRAON:    The  dust  in  the  road  will  be 
well  laid. 


PROLOGUE 


VIOLAINE  (in  a  low  voice,  affectionately) :  Peace  to 
you,  Pierre! 

(Silence.  And,  suddenly,  sonorous  and  clear 
and  very  high  in  the  heaven,  the  first 
tolling  of  the  Angelus.  Pierre  takes  off 
his  hat,  and  both  make  the  sign  of  the 
cross. 

VIOLAINE  (her  hands  clasped  and  her  face  raised  to 
heaven,  in  a  voice  beautifully  clear  and  touching) : 
REGINA  C«LI,  L^TARE,  ALLELUIA! 

(Second  tolling. 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON  (in  a  hollow  voice):   QUIA  QUEM 

MERUISTI    PORTARE,   ALLELUIA! 

(Third  tolling. 

VIOLAINE:   RESURREXIT  SICUT  DIXIT,  ALLELUIA! 

PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  ORA  PRO  NOBIS  DEUM. 

(Pause. 

VIOLAINE:  GAUDE  ET  L^TARE,  VIRGO  MARIA, 
ALLELUIA! 

PIERRE  DE  CRAON!  QUIA  RESURREXIT  DOMINUS 
VERE,  ALLELUIA!  (Peal  of  the  Angelus. 

PIERRE  DE  CRAON  (very  low):  OREMUS.  DEUS 
QUI  PER  RESURRECTIONEM  FlLII  TUI  DOMINI 
NOSTRI  JESU  CRISTI  MUNDUM  L^TIFICARE  DIG- 
NATUS  ES,  PIUESTA,  QUJESUMUS,  UT  PER  EJUS 
GENITRICEM  VIRGINEM  MARIAM  PERPETU^E 
CAPIAMUS  GAUDIA  VITJE.  PER  EUNDEM  DoMI- 
NUM  NOSTRUM  JESUM  CHRISTUM  QUI  TECUM 

7 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

VIVIT    ET    REGNAT   IN    UNITATE    SPIRITUS    SANCTI 
DEUS   PER  OMNIA   SPECULA  S^CULORUM. 

VIOLAINE  :  Amen.  (Both  cross  themselves. 

PIERRE  DE  CRAON:    How  early  the  Angelus  rings! 
VIOLAINE:   They  say  matins  up  there  at  midnight 

like  the  Carthusians. 

PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  I  shall  be  at  Rheims  this  evening. 
VIOLAINE  :  Know  you  well  the  road  ? 
First  along  this  hedge, 

And  then  by  that  low  house  in  the  grove  of  elder 
bushes,  under  which  you  will  see  five  or  six 
beehives. 

And  a  hundred  paces  further  on  you  reach  the 
King's  Highway.  (A  pause. 

PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  ;  PAX  TIBI. 
fHow  all  creation  seems  to  rest  with  God  in  a 

profound  mystery! 

That  which  was  hidden  grows  visible  again  with 
Him,  and  I  feel  on  my  face  a  breath  as  fresh 
as  roses. 

Praise  thy  God,  blessed  earth,  in  tears  and  dark- 
ness! 

The  fruit  is  for  man,  but  the  flower  is  for  God 
and  the  sweet  fragrance  of  all  things  born, 
hus  the  virtue  of  the  holy  soul  that  is  hidden  is 
subtly  revealed,  as  the  mint  leaf  by  its  odour.  j 
Violaine,  who  have  opened  the  door  for  me,  fare- 
well! 

8 


PROLOGUE 


v    I  shall  never  return  again  to  you. 

O  young  tree  of  the  knowledge  of  Good  and  Evil, 

behold   how  my  dissolution  begins  because   I 

have  laid  my  hands  upon  you, 
And  already  my  soul  and  body  are  being  divided, 

as  the  wine  in  the  vat  from  the  crushed  grape! 
What  matters  it?     I  had  no  need  of  woman. 
;  I  have  never  possessed  a  corruptible  woman. 
The  man  who  in  his  heart  has  preferred  God,  sees 

when  he  dies  his  guardian  Angel. 
The  time  will  soon  come  when  another  door  opens, 
When  he  who  in  this  life  has  pleased  but  few, 

having  finished   his  work,   falls   asleep   in   the 

arms  of  the  eternal  Bird: 
When   through   translucent   walls   looms   on    all 

sides  the  sombre  Paradise, 
And  the  censers  of  the  night  mingle  their  scent  with 

the  odour  of  the  noisome  wick  as  it  sputters  out^A 
VIOLAINE:    Pierre  de  Craon,jl  know  that  you  do 

not  expect  to  hear  from  me  any  false  sighs, 

"Poor  fellows!"  or  "Poor  Pierres." 
Because  to  him  who  suffers  the  consolation  of  a 

joyous  comforter  is  not  of  much  worth,  for  his 

anguish  is  not  to  us  what  it  is  to  hirn^J 
Suffer  with  our  Lord. 
But  know  that  your  evil  act  is  forgotten 
So  far  as  it  concerns  me,  and  that  I  am  at  peace 

with  you, 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

And  that  I  do  not  scorn  or  abhor  you  because 

you  are  stricken  with  the  pest  and  malady, 
But  I  shall  treat  you  like  a  healthy  man,  and  like 
Pierre  de  Craon,  our  old  friend,  whom  I  respect 
and  love  and  fear. 
What  I  say  to  you  is  true. 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  Thank  you,  Violaine. 
VIOLAINE:   And  now  I  have  something  to  ask  you. 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  Speak. 

VIOLAINE  :  What  is  this  beautiful* story  that  my  father 
has  told  us?    What  is  this  "Justice5'  that  you 
are  building  at  Rheims,  and  that  will  be  more 
beautiful  than  Saint-Remy  and  Notre-Dame  ? 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  It  is  the  church  which  the  guilds 
of  Rheims  gave  me  to  build  on  the  site  of  the 
old  Parc-aux-Ouilles,1 
There    where    the    old    Marc-de-1'Eveque 2    was 

burned  down  yesteryear. 

I  Firstly,  as  a  thank-offering  to  God  for  seven  fat 
summers  while  distress  reigned  everywhere  else 
in  the  kingdom, 
For   abundant   grain   and   fruit,   for   cheap   and 

beautiful  wool, 
For  cloth  and  parchment  profitably  sold  to  the 

merchants  of  Paris  and  Germany. 
Secondly,  for  the  liberties  acquired,  the  privileges 
conferred  by  our  Lord  the  King, 

1   Sheep-fold.  2  The  bishop's  still. 

10 


PROLOGUE 


The    old    order    issued    against    us    by    Bishops 

Felix  II  and  Abondant  de  Cramail 
Rescinded  by  the  Pope, 
And  all  that  by  the  aid  of  the  bright  sword  and 

Champenois  coins. 
For  such  is  the  Christian  commonwealth,  without 

servile  fear, 
But  that  each  should  have  his  right,  according 

to  justice,  in  marvellous  diversity, 
That  charity  may  be  fulfilled. 

VIOLAINE:    But  of  which  King  and  of  which  Pope 
do  you  speak  ?     For  there  are  two,  and  one  does 
not  know  which  is  the  good  one. 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:    The  good  one   is  he  who  is 

good  to  us. 

VIOLAINE  :  You  do  not  speak  rightly. 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:   Forgive  me.     I  am  only  an  ig- 
norant man.  J 
VIOLAINE:    And  whence  comes  this  name  given  to 

the  new  parish? 

PIERRE  DE  CRAON:   Have  you  never  heard  of  Saint 
Justice  who  was  martyred  in  an  anise  field  in 
the  time  of  the  Emperor  Julian? 
(The  anise  seeds  which  they  put  in  our  ginger- 
bread at  the  Easter  fair.) 

As  we  were  trying  to  divert  the  waters  of  a  sub- 
terranean spring,  to  make  way  for  our  founda- 
tions, 

«• 


THE  TIDINGS   BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

We  discovered  her  tomb,  with  this  inscription  on 
a  slab  of  stone,  broken  in  two :  JUSTITIA  ANCILLA 
DOMINI  IN  PACE. 
The  fragile  little  skull  was  broken  like  a  nut  — 

she  was  a  child  of  eight  years  — 
And  a  few  milk  teeth  still  adhere  to  the  jaw. 
For  which  all  Rheims  is  filled  with  admiration, 
and  many  signs  and  miracles  follow  the  body 
Which  we  have  laid  in  a  chapel,  to  await  the 

completion  of  our  work. 
But  under  the  great  foundation  stone  we  have 

left,  like  seed,  the  little  teeth. 

VIOLAINE:    What   a   beautiful   story!    And    father 
also  told  us  that  all  the  ladies  of  Rheims  give 
their  jewels  for  the  building  of  the  Justice. 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:   We  have  a  great  heap  of  them, 
and  many  Jews  around  them  like  flies. 

(VIOLAINE  has  been  looking  down  and  turning 
hesitatingly  a  massive  gold  ring  which  she 
wears  on  her  fourth  finger. 

PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  What  ring  is  that,  Violaine? 
VIOLAINE:  A  ring  that  Jacques  gave  me. 

(Silence. 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  I  congratulate  you. 

(She  holds  out  the  ring  to  him. 
VIOLAINE:  It  is  not  yet  settled.     My  father  has  said 

nothing. 
Well!    That  is  what  I  wanted  to  tell  you. 

12 


PROLOGUE 


Take  my  beautiful  ring,  which  is  all  I  have,  and 

Jacques  gave  it  to  me  secretly. 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  But  I  do  not  want  it! 
VIOLAINE:    Take  it  quickly,  or  I   shall  no  longer 
have  the  strength  to  part  with  it. 

(He  takes  the  ring. 

PIERRE  DE  CRAON:   What  will  your  betrothed  say? 

VIOLAINE:     He    is    not    really   my   betrothed    yet. 

The  loss  of  a  ring  does  not  change  the  heart.     He 

knows  me.     He  will  give  me  another  of  silver. 

,  This  one  was  too  fine  for  me. 

]  PIERRE  DE  CRAON  (examining  it) :  It  is  of  vegetable 
gold  which,  in  former  times,  they  knew  how  to 
make  with  an  alloy  of  honey. 
It  is  as  supple  as  wax,  and  nothing  can  break  it. 
VIOLAINE  :  Jacques  turned  it  up  in  the  ground  when 
he  was  ploughing,  in  a  place  where  they  some- 
times find  old  swords  turned  quite  green,  and 
pretty  bits  of  glass. 
I  was  afraid  to  wear  such  a  pagan  thing,  which 

belongs  to  the  dead.J 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  I  accept  this  pure  gold. 
VIOLAINE  :  And  kiss  my  sister  Justice  for  me. 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON  (looking  suddenly  at  her,  as  if  struck 
with  an  idea) :  Is  that  all  you  have  to  give  me 
for  her  ?  a  bit  of  gold  taken  off  your  finger  ? 
VIOLAINE:    Will   that   not   be   enough   to   pay   for 
one  little  stone? 

13 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

PIERRE  DE  CRAON:    But  Justice  is  a  large  stone 

herself. 
VIOLAINE    (laughing):    I    am   not   from   the   same 

quarry. 
/PIERRE  DE  CRAON:   The  stone  needed  for  the  base 

is  not  the  stone  needed  for  the  pinnacle. 
VIOLAINE:    Then,  if  I  am  a  stone,  may  it  be  that 

useful  one  that  grinds  the  corn,  coupled  to  the 

twin  millstone. 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:    And  Justitia  also  was  only  a 

humble  little  girl  at  her  mother's  side. 
Until  the  moment  God  called  her  to  the  confession 

of  faith. 

VIOLAINE:   But  nobody  wishes  me  ill!     Is  it  neces- 
sary that  I  should  go  preach  the  Gospel  to  the 

SaracensJJ 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:   It  is  not  for  the  stone  to  choose 

its  own  place,  but  for  the  Master  of  the  Work 

who  chose  the  stone. 
VIOLAINE  :  Then  praised  be  God  who  has  given  me 

mine  now,  and  I  have  no  longer  to  seek  it. 

And  I  ask  him  for  no  other. 
I  am  Violaine,  I  am  eighteen  years  old,  my  father's 

name  is  Anne  Vercors,  my  mother's  name  is 

Elisabeth, 
My  sister's  name  is  Mara,  my  betrothed  is  named 

Jacques.     There,  that  is  all,  there  is  nothing 

more  to  know. 


PROLOGUE 


|  Everything    is    perfectly    clear,    all    is    arranged 

beforehand,  and  I  am  very  glad. 
I  am  free,  I  have  nothing  to  trouble  me;   another 

will  lead  me,  the  poor  man,  and  he  knows  every- 
thing that  there  is  to  do. 
Sower  of  steeples,  come  to  ^Combernon !   we  will 

give  you  stone  and  wood,  but  you  shall  not 

have  the  daughter  of  the  house! 
And,  besides,  is  this  not  already  the  house  of  God, 

the  land  of  God,  the  service  of  God  ? 
Have  we  not  charge  over  lonely  Monsanvierge, 

which  we  must  feed   and  guard,  providing  it 

with  bread,  wine,  and  wax, 
Being  a  dependency  of  this  lonely  eyrie  of  angels 

with  half-spread  wings? 
Thus,  as  the  great  lords  have  their  dovecot,  we 

too   have  ours,  which  is  known  from  a  great 

distance  away. 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  One  day  as  I  went  through  the 

forest  of  Fisme,  I  heard  two  beautiful  oak  trees 

talking  together, 
Praising  God  for  making  them  immovable  on  the 

spot  where  they  were  born. 
Now  one  of  them,  in  the  prow  of  an  ocean  raft, 

makes  war  upon  the  Turks, 
The  other,  felled  under  my  care,  supports  Jehanne, 

the  good   bell   in  the  tower   of   Laon,  whose 

voice  is  heard  ten  leagues  away.    I 

***i«J 

15 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

Young  girl,  in  my  craft  one  does  not  keep  one's 

eyes  in  one's  pocket. 

I  know  the  good  stone  under  the  juniper  .trees, 
and  the  good  wood  like  a  master  woodpecker; 
In  the  same  way,  men  and  women. 
VIOLAINE:     But    not    girls,    Master    Pierre!    That 
is  too  subtle  for  you.     And  in  the  first  place, 
there  is  nothing  at  all  to  know. 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON  (in  a  low  voice):   You  love  him 

dearly,  Violaine? 
VIOLAINE  (lowering  her  eyes) :  That  is  a  great  mystery 

between  us  two. 

PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  Blessed  be  thou  in  thy  pure  heart! 
^Holiness  is  not  to  get  oneself  stoned  by  the  Turks, 
&        or  to  kiss  a  leper  on  the  mouth, 

But  to  obey  promptly  God's  commands. 
Whether  it  be 

To  stay  where  we  are,  or  to  ascend  higher. 
VIOLAINE  :  Ah,  how  beautiful  the  world  is,  and  how 

happy  I  am! 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON  (speaking  low) :  Ah,  how  beautiful 

the  world  is,  and  how  unhappy  I  am! 
VIOLAINE   (pointing  to  the  sky):    Man  of  the  city, 
listen!  (Pause. 

Do  you  hear  high  up  there  that  little  soul  singing? 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  It  is  the  lark! 
VIOLAINE:   It  is  the  larkU alleluia!    The  lark  of  the 
Christian  earth,  alleluia,  alleluia! 

16 


PROLOGUE 


Do  you  hear  it  cry  four  times,  he !  he !  he !  he ! 

higher,  higher!   j 

Do   you   see  it,   the  eager  little  cross,   with   its 
wings   spread,   like    the    seraphim    who    have 
only  wings  and  no  feet,  singing  shrilly  before 
the  throne  of  God? 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:   I  hear  it. 
And  it  is  thus  I  heard  it  once  at  dawn,  on  the  day 
we  dedicated  my  daughter  Notre-Dame  de  la 
Couture, 

And  a  golden  point  gleamed  at  the  topmost  pin- 
nacle of  this  great  thing  I  had  made,  like  a 
star  new-born! 
VIOLAINE:    Pierre  de  Craon,  if  you  had  done  with 

me  as  you  would, 
Would  you  be  more  happy  now  because  of  that, 

or  I  more  beautiful? 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:   No,  Violaine. 
VIOLAINE:   And  would  I  still  be  the  same  Violaine 

whom  you  loved? 

PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  No,  not  she,  but  another. 
VIOLAINE:   And  which  is  better,  Pierre, 
That  I  share  my  joy  with  you,  or  that  I  share  your 

pain  ? 
PIERRE   DE   CRAON:    Sing   far   up    in   the   highest 

heaven,  lark  of  France! 

VIOLAINE:  Forgive  me,  for  I  am  too  happy,  because 
he  whom  I  love 

17 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

Loves  me,  and  I  am  sure  of  him,  and  I  know  he 

loves  me,  and  all  is  equal  between  us. 
And  because  God  made  me  to  be  happy  and  not 

for  evil  nor  any  sorrow. 

PIERRE  DE  CRAON  :  Mount  to  heaven  in  a  single  flight ! 

As  for  me,  to  ascend  a  little  I  must  have  the 

whole  of  a  cathedral,  with  its  deep  foundations. 

VIOLAINE:    And  tell  me  that  you  forgive  Jacques 

for  marrying  me. 

PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  No,  I  do  not  forgive  him. 
VIOLAINE:    Hatred  does  you  no  good,  Pierre,  and 

makes  me  grieve. 

PIERRE  DE  CRAON:    It  is  you  who  make  me  speak. 
Why  do  you  force  me  to  show  the  ugly  wound 
that  no  one  sees? 
Let  me  go,  and  ask  me  nothing  more.     We  shall 

not  see  each  other  any  more. 
All  the  same,  I  carry  away  his  ring! 
VIOLAINE:    Leave  your  hatred  in  its  place,  and  I 
will  give  it  back  to  you  when  you  have  need  of  it. 
PIERRE   DE   CRAON:    But  besides,   Violaine,   I   am 

very  wretched. 

It  is  hard  to  be  a  leper,  to  bear  this  shameful 
wound,  knowing  that  there  is  no  cure  and  that 
there  is  no  help  for  it, 

But  that  each  day  it  spreads  and  bites  deeper; 
and  to  be  alone,  and  to  suffer  one's  own  poison, 
to  feel  oneself  alive  in  corruption, 

18 


PROLOGUE 


Not  only  to  taste  death  once,  aye,  ten  times,  but 
to  miss  nothing,  even  to  the  end,  of  the  horrible 
P-  alchemy  of  the  tomb ! 

j  It  is  you  who  have  brought  this  evil  upon  me  by 
your  beauty,  for  before  I  saw  you  I  was  pure 
and  happy, 

My  heart  lost  in  my  work  and  ideas,  under  an- 
other's command. 
And  now  that  I  command  in  my  turn,  and  draw 

the  plans, 
Behold,  you  turn  your  face  toward  me  with  that 

poisonous  smile. 

VIOLAINE:  The  poison  was  not  in  me,  Pierre! 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:   I  know  it,  it  was  in  me,  and  it 
is  still  there,  and  this  sick  flesh  has  not  cured 
the  tainted  soul! 
O  little  soul,  was  it  possible  that  I  should  see  you 

and  not  love  you? 
VIOLAINE:  And  certainly  you  have  shown  that  you 

loved  me. 

PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  It  is  my  fault  if  the  fruit  hangs 
on  the  branch? 

And  who  is  he  who  loves  and  does  not  desire  all? 
VIOLAINE:     And  that  is  why  you  tried  to  destroy 

me? 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:    Man,  cruelly  injured,  has  his 

infernal  shades,  too,  like  woman. 
VIOLAINE:   In  what  have  I  failed  you? 

19 


THE  TIDINGS   BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

PIERRE   DE   CRAON:    O  image  of  eternal   Beauty, 

thou  art  not  for  me! 
„   VIOLAINE:  I  am  not  an  image! 
That  is  not  the  way  to  speak! 

PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  Another  takes  from  you  that 
which  was  for  me. 

VIOLAINE  :  The  image  remains. 

PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  Another  takes  Violaine  from  me, 
and  leaves  me  this  tainted  flesh  and  this  con- 
sumed mincLJ 
^VIOLAINE:    Be  a  man,   Pierre!    Be  worthy  of  the 

flame  which  consumes  you ! 

And  if  one  must  be  consumed,  let  it  be  like  the 
Paschal-candle,  flaming  on  its  golden  candela- 
brum in  the  midst  of  the  choir  for  the  glory 
of  all  the  Church! 

PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  So  many  sublime  pinnacles! 
But  shall  I  never  see  the  roof  of  my  own  little 
house  under  the  trees? 

So  many  belfries  whose  circling  shadows  write 
the  hour  for  all  the  city!  But  shall  I  never 
design  an  oven,  and  the  room  for  the  children? 

VIOLAINE:  It  was  not  for  me  to  take  for  myself 
alone  what  belongs  to  all. 

PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  When  will  the  wedding  be, 
Violaine  ? 

VIOLAINE:  At  Michaelmas,  I  suppose,  when  the 
harvest  is  done. 

20 


PROLOGUE 


PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  On  that  day,  when  the  bells 
of  Monsanvierge  have  spoken  and  are  silent, 
listen  well  and  you  will  hear  me  answer  them 
far  away  at  Rheims. 

VIOLAINE  :  Who  takes  care  of  you  there  ? 

PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  I  have  always  lived  like  a  work- 
man ;  it  is  enough  for  me  if  I  have  a  bunch  of 
straw  between  two  stones,  a  leathern  coat,  and 
a  little  bacon  on  my  bread. 

VIOLAINE:  Poor  Pierre! 

PIERRE  DE  CRAON:   I  am  not  to  be  pitied  for  that; 

we  are  set  apart. 

I  do  not  live  as  other  men,  as  I  am  always  under 
the  ground  with  the  foundations,  or  in  the  sky 
with  the  belfry. 

VIOLAINE:  Well!  We  could  never  have  lived  to- 
gether! My  head  swims  if  I  only  go  up  to  the 
hayloft. 

PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  This  church  alone  will  be  my 
wife,  drawn  from  my  side  like  an  Eve  of  stone, 
in  the  slumber  of  pain. 

May  I  soon  feel  my  great  structure  rising  under 
me,  and  lay  my  hand  on  this  indestructible 
thing  I  have  made,  whose  parts  hold  firmly 
together,  this  solid  work  which  I  have  con- 
structed of  strong  stone  that  the  Holy  Sacra- 
ment may  be  placed  there,  my  work  that  God 
inhabits ! 

21 


THE  TIDINGS   BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

I  shall  never  come  down  again!    It  is  I  at  whom 
they  point,  that  group  of  young  girls  with  arms 
interlaced,  on  the  chequered  pavement  a  hun- 
dred feet  below! 
VIOLAINE:    You    must    come   down.     Who   knows 

but  I  shall  have  need  of  you  some  day? 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:    Farewell,  Violaine,  my  soul,  I 

shall  never  see  you  again! 
VIOLAINE:    Who  knows  that   you   will   never   see 

me  again? 

PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  Farewell,  Violaine! 
How  many  things  I  have  already  done!     How 
many  things  remain  for  me  to  do,  how  much 
building  up  of  habitations! 
Darkness,  with  God. 

Not  the  hours  of  the  office  in  a  breviary,  but 
the  real  hours  of  a  cathedral,  where  the  sun 
brings  light  and  shade  successfully  to  every 
part. 

I  take  away  your  ring, 
And    of   its    little    circle    I    will    make    golden 

seed ! 

/"God  caused  the  deluge  to  cease,"  as  says  the 

baptismal  psalm, 
And  I,  between  the  walls  of  the  Justice,   shall 

imprison  the  gold  of  the  dawn! 
The  light  of  day  changes,  but  not  that  which  I 
shall  distil  under  those  arches, 

22 


PROLOGUE 


Like  the  light  of  the  human  soul,  that  the  Host 

may  dwell  in  the  midst  of  it. 
The   soul   of  Violaine,   my   child,   in  whom   my 

heart  delights. 
There  are   churches   like   pits,  and  others  which 

are  like  furnaces, 

And  others  so  delicately  put  together,  adjusted 
with  such  art,  that  they  seem  as  if  they  would 
ring  like  a  bell  under  a  finger-tap. 
But  that  which  I  am  going  to  build  will  lie  under 
its  own  shadow  like  condensed  gold,  and  like 
a  pyx  full  of  manna! 

VIOLAINE  :  O  Master  Pierre,  what  a  beautiful  stained- 
glass  window  you  gave  to  the  monks  of  Clinchy ! 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  The  staining  of  glass  is  not  my 

art,  though  I  know  something  of  it. 
But,  before  the  glass  is  made,  the  architect,  by 
his  knowledge  of  arrangement,  makes  the  stone 
framework  like  a  filter  in  the  waves  of  God's 
Light, 

And  gives  to  the  whole  edifice  its  individual  lustre, 
as  to  a  pearL^ 

(MARA  VERCORS  enters  and  watches  them  with- 
out being  seen. 
And  now  farewell!    The  sun  is  risen,  and  I  ought 

already  to  be  far  on  my  road. 
VIOLAINE:    Farewell,  Pierre! 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:   Farewell,  Violaine! 

23 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

VIOLAINE:   Poor  Pierre! 

(She  looks  at  him  with  eyes  full  of  tears, 
hesitates,  and  offers  him  her  hand.  He 
seizes  it,  and  while  he  holds  it  between  his 
own  she  leans  towards  him  and  kisses  him 
on  the  face. 

MARA  makes  a  gesture  of  surprise  and  goes 
out. 

PIERRE    DE    CRAON    and   VIOLAINE    gO    OUt   by 

the  different  doors. 


24 


Act  One:    Scene  One 

The  kitchen  of  Combernon,  a  spacious  room  having 
a  great  fireplace  with  an  emblazoned  mantel;  in  the 
middle  of  the  room  a  long  table  and  all  the  domestic 
utensils,  as  in  a  picture  by  Breughel.  THE  MOTHER, 
stooping  before  the  hearth,  tries  to  revive  the  fire. 
ANNE  VERCORS,  standing,  looks  at  her.  He  is  a  tall 
and  strong  man  of  sixty  years,  with  a  full  blond  beard 
streaked  with  much  white. 

THE  MOTHER  (without  turning  round) :   Why  do  you 

look  at  me  like  that? 

ANNE  VERCORS  (thinking):  I  The  end,  already!    It  is 
like  coming  to  the  last  page  in  a  picture  book. 
"When  the  night  had  passed,  the  woman  having 
revived  the  household  fire  .  .  .,"  and  the  humble 
and  touching  story  is  finished. 
It  is  as  if  I  were  no  longer  here.     There  she  is, 
before  my  eyes,  yet  seeming  already  like^  some- 
thing only  remembered.  /  "\(Aloud. 
O  wife  it  is  a  month  since  we  were  married 
With  a  ring  which  is  shaped  like  Oui, 
A  month  of  which  each  day  is  a  year. 
And  for  a  long  time  you  were  fruitless 
Like  a  tree  which  gives  nothing  but  shade. 

25 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

And  one  day  we  looked  at  each  other 

And  it  was  the  middle  of  our  life, 

Elisabeth!    and  I  saw  the  first  wrinkles  on  thy 

forehead  and  around  thine  eyes. 
And,  as  on  our  wedding  day, 
We  clasped  and  embraced  each  other,  no  longer 

with  lightness  of  heart, 
But   with   the   tenderness    and    compassion    and 

piety  of  our  mutual  trust. 

And  between  us  was  our  child  and  the  modesty 
Of  this  sweet  narcissus,  Violaine. 
And  then  the  second  was  born  to  us, 
Mara  the  black.     Another  daughter,  and  not  a 

son.  (Pause. 

Well  now,  say  what  you  have  to  say,  for  I  know 
When  you  begin  speaking  without  looking  at  you, 

saying  something  and  nothing.     Come  now ! 
THE  MOTHER:  You  know  well  that  one  can  tell  you 

nothing.     You  are  never  there,  and  I  must  even 

catch  you  to  sew  on  a  button. 
And  you  do  not  listen  to  one,  but  like  a  watch- 
dog you  watch, 

Only  attentive  to  the  noises  of  the  door. 
But  men  never  understand  anything. 
ANNE  VERCORS:   Now  the  little  girls  are  grown  up. 
THE  MOTHER:  They?    No. 
ANNE  VERCORS:   To  whom  are  we  going  to  marry 

them  all? 

26 


ACT  ONE:  SCENE  ONE 


THE    MOTHER:      Marry    them,    Anne,    say    you? 

We  have  plenty  of  time  to  think  of  that. 
ANNE  VERCORS:    Oh,  deceit  of  woman!    Tell  me! 

When  think  you  anything 

But  first  you  do  not  say  just  the  contrary;   mali- 
ciousness!    I  know  thee.  - 
THE  MOTHER:  I  won't  say  anything  more. 
ANNE  VERCORS:    Jacques  Hury. 
THE  MOTHER:  Well? 

ANNE  VERCORS:  There.    I  will  give  him  Violaine  .  .  . 
And  he  will  take  the  place  of  the  son  I  have  not 

had.     He  is  an  upright  and  industrious  man. 
I  have  known  him  since  he  was  a  little  lad,  and 
his  mother  gave  him  to  us.     It  is  I  who  have 
taught  him  everything, 
Grain,  cattle,  servants,  arms,  tools,  our  neighbours, 

our  betters,  custom  —  God  — 
The  weather,  the  nature  of  this  ancient  soil, 
How  to  reflect  before  speaking. 
I  have  seen  him  develop  into  a  man  while  he  was 
looking  at  me  and  the  beard  grow  around  his 
kind  face, 
As  he  is  now,  straight-backed  and  tight  like  the 

ears  of  the  barley. 

And  he  was  never  one  of  those  who  contradict, 
but  who  reflect,  like  the  earth  which  receives 
all  kinds  of  grain. 

And  that  which  is  false,  not  taking  root,  dies; 

27 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

And  so,  one  may  not  say  that  he  believes  in  truth, 
but  rather  that  it  grows  within  him,  having 
found  nourishment. 
THE  MOTHER:  How  do  you  know,  if  they  love  each 

other  or  not  ? 
ANNE  VERCORS:   Violaine 
Will  do  what  I  tell  her. 
As  for  him,  I  know  that  he  loves  her,  and  you 

too  know  it. 

Yet  the  blockhead  dares  not  speak  to  me.     But 
I  will  give  her  to  him  if  he  wants  her.     So  shall 
it  be. 
THE  MOTHER:  Yes. 

No  doubt  that  is  as  it  should  be. 
ANNE  VERCORS:  Have  you  nothing  more  to  say? 
THE  MOTHER:   What,  then? 
ANNE  VERCORS:   Very  well,  I  will  go  seek  him. 
THE  MOTHER:   What,  seek  him?    Anne! 
ANNE  VERCORS:    I  want  everything  to  be  settled 

at  once.     I  will  tell  you  why  presently. 
THE  MOTHER:  What  have  you  to  tell  me? 

-Anne,  listen  a  moment.  ...     I  fear.  .  .  . 
ANNE  VERCORS:    Well? 
THE  MOTHER:  Mara 

Slept  in  my  room  this  winter,  while  you  were  ill, 

and  we  talked  at  night  in  our  beds. 
Surely  he  is  an  honest  lad,  and  I  love  him  like 
my  own  child,  almost. 

28 


ACT  ONE:  SCENE  ONE 


He  has  no  property,  that  is  true,  but  he  is  a  good 

ploughman,  and  comes  of  a  good  family. 
We  could  give  them 

Our  Demi-muids  farm  with  the  lower  fields  which 
are  too  far  away  for  us.  —  I,  too,  wanted  to 
speak  to  you  of  him. 
ANNE  VERCORS:  Well? 
THE  MOTHER:   W^ell,  nothing. 

No  doubt  Violaine  is  the  eldest. 
ANNE  VERCORS:   Come,  come,  what  then? 
THE  MOTHER:  What  then?  How  do  you  know  surely 
that  he  loves  her  ? — Our  old  friend,  Master  Pierre, 
(Why  did  he  keep  away  from  us  this  time  without 

seeing  anybody?) 

You  saw  him  last  year  when  he  came, 
And  how  he  looked  at  her  while  she  served  us.  — 
Certainly  he  has  no  land,  but  he  earns  much 
money. 

—  And  she,  while  he  spoke, 

How   she   listened   to  him,   with   her   eyes  wide 

open  like  a  child's, 
Forgetting  to  pour  the  drink  for  us,  so  that  I 

had  to  scold  her! 

—  And   Mara,   you  know  her.     You  know  how 
hard-headed  she  is! 

If  she  has  a  notion  then 

That   she  will  marry  Jacques, — heigh-ho!     She 
is  hard  as  iron. 

29 


THE  TIDINGS   BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

I  don't  know!     Perhaps  it  would  be  better  .  .  . 
ANNE  VERCORS:  What  is  all  this  nonsense? 
THE  MOTHER:  Very  well!    Very  well!  we  can  talk 

like  that.     You  must  not  get  angry. 
ANNE  VERCORS:   It  is  my  will. 
Jacques  shall  marry  Violaine. 
THE  MOTHER:  Well!  he  shall  marry  her  then. 
ANNE  VERCORS:    And  now,  mother,  I  have  some- 
thing else  to  tell  you,  poor  old  woman!     I  am 

going  away. 
THE    MOTHER:    You    are   going   away?    You    are 

going  away,  old  man?    What  is  that  you  say? 
ANNE  VERCORS:   That  is  why  Jacques  must  marry 

Violaine   without   delay,    and    take    my    place 

here. 
THE  MOTHER:    Lord!    You  are  going  away!    You 

mean  it  ?    And  where  are  you  going  ? 
ANNE  VERCORS  (pointing  vaguely  toward  the  south) : 

Down  there. 

THE  MOTHER:   To  Chateau? 
ANNE  VERCORS:   Farther  than  Chateau. 
THE  MOTHER  (lowering  her  voice) :    To  Bourges,  to 

the  other  King? 

ANNE  VERCORS:  To  the  King  of  Kings,  to  Jerusalem. 
THE  MOTHER:  Lord!  (She  sits  down. 

Is  it  because  France  is  not  good  enough  for  you? 
ANNE    VERCORS:    There    is    too    much    sorrow    in 

France. 

30 


ACT  ONE:  SCENE  ONE 


THE  MOTHER:  But  we  are  very  comfortable  here 
and  nobody  troubles  Rheims. 

ANNE  VERCORS:   That  is  it. 

THE  MOTHER:  That  is  what? 

ANNE  VERCORS:  The  very  thing;  we  are  too  happy, 
And  the  others  not  happy  enough. 

THE  MOTHER:  Anne,  that  is  not  our  fault. 

ANNE  VERCORS  :  It  is  not  theirs  either. 

THE  MOTHER:  I  don't  know.  I  know  that  you 
are  there  and  that  I  have  two  children. 

ANNE  VERCORS:  But  you  see,  surely,  that  every- 
thing is  upset  and  put  out  of  its  right  place, 
and  everybody  seeks  distractedly  to  find  where 
that  place  is. 

And   the   smoke   we   see   sometimes   in  the  dis- 
tance   is    not    merely    the    smoke   of   burning 
straw. 
And  these  crowds  of  poor  people  who  come  to 

us  from  every  side. 

There  is  no  longer  a  King  reigning  over  France, 
according  to  the  prediction  of  the  prophet.1 

1  "  i  For,  behold  the  Lord,  the  Lord  of  hosts,  doth  take  away  from  Jerusalem 
and  from  Judah,  the  stay  and  the  staff,  the  whole  stay  of  bread,  and  the 
whole  stay  of  water. 

"  2  The  mighty  man,  and  the  man  of  war,  the  judge,  and  the  prophet,  and 
the  prudent,  and  the  ancient. 

"  3  The  captain  of  fifty,  and  the  honourable  man,  and  the  counsellor,  and 
the  cunning  artificer,  and  the  eloquent  orator. 

"  4  And  I  will  give  children  to  be  their  princes,  and  babes  shall  rule  over 
them." — Isaiah  iii,  1-5. 

31 


THE  TIDINGS   BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

THE  MOTHER:    That  is  what  you  read  to  us  the 

other  day? 
ANNE  VERCORS:   In  the  place  of  the  King  we  have 

two  children. 

The  English  one,  in  his  island, 
And  the  other  one,  so  little  that  among  the  reeds 

of  the  Loire  he  cannot  be  seen. 
In  place  of  the  Pope  we  have  three  Popes,  and 

instead  of  Rome,  I  don't  know  what  council  or 

other  in  Switzerland. 
All  is  struggling  and  moving, 
Having  no  longer  any  counterweight  to  steady 

it. 
THE  MOTHER:  And  you,  also,  where  do  you  want  to 

go? 

ANNE  VERCORS:  I  can  no  longer  stay  here. 
THE  MOTHER:  Anne,  have  I  done  anything  to  grieve 

you? 

ANNE  VERCORS:  No,  my  Elisabeth. 
THE  MOTHER:  Here  you  abandon  me  in  my  old  age. 
ANNE  VERCORS  :  Give  me  leave  to  go,  yourself. 
THE  MOTHER:   You  do  not  love  me  any  more  and 

you  are  no  longer  happy  with  me. 
ANNE  VERCORS:  I  am  weary  of  being  happy. 
THE  MOTHER:    Scorn  not  the  gift  which  God  has 

given  you. 

ANNE   VERCORS:    God   be   praised   who  has   over- 
whelmed me  with  his  goodness! 

32 


ACT  ONE:  SCENE  ONE 


For  these  thirty  years  now  I  have  held  this  sacred 
fief  from   my  father,   and   God   has   sent   rain 
on  my  furrows. 
For  ten  years  there  has  not  been  one  hour  of 

my  work 

That  he  has  not  repaid  four  "times  over  and  more, 
As  if  it  were  not  his  will  to  keep  open  his  account 

with  me,  or  leave  anything  owing. 
All  else  perished,  yet  I  was  spared. 
So  that  I  shall  appear  before  him  empty  and  with- 
out a  claim,  among  those  who  have  received 
their  reward. 
THE  MOTHER:    It   is  enough  to   have   a  grateful 

heart. 
ANNE  VERCORS:    But  I  am  not  satisfied  with  his 

benefits, 
And  because  I  have  received  them,  shall  I  leave 

the  greater  good  to  others? 
THE  MOTHER:  I  do  not  understand  you. 
ANNE  VERCORS:    Which  receives  more,  the  full  or 

the  empty  vessel? 

And  which  has  need  of  the  most  water,  the  cis- 
tern or  the  spring? 
THE  MOTHER:  Ours  is  nearly  dried  up  by  this  long 

hot  summer. 

ANNE  VERCORS:  Such  has  been  the  evil  of  this 
world,  that  each  has  wanted  to  enjoy  his  own 
as  if  it  had  been  created  for  him, 

33 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

And  not  at  all  as  if  he  had  received  it  by  the 

will  of  God, 

The  lord  his  estate,  the  father  his  children, 
The  King  his  Kingdom  and  the  scholar  his  rank. 
That  is  why  God  has  taken  away  from  them  all 

these  things  which  can  be  taken  away, 
And    has    sent    to    each    man    deliverance    and 

fasting. 

And  why  is  the  portion  of  others  not  mine  also? 
THE  MOTHER:   You  have  your  duty  here  with  us. 
ANNE  VERCORS  :  Not  if  you  will  absolve  me  from  it. 
THE  MOTHER:  I  will  not  absolve  you. 
ANNE  VERCORS:  You  see  that  what  I  had  to  do  is 

done. 
The   two    children    are    reared,    and   Jacques    is 

there  to  take  my  place. 

THE  MOTHER:    Who  calls  you  far  away  from  us? 
ANNE    VERCORS    (smiling) :     An    angel    blowing    a 

trumpet. 

THE  MOTHER:  What  trumpet? 
ANNE   VERCORS:    The   soundless   trumpet    that    is 

heard  by  all. 

The  trumpet  that  calls  all  men  from  time  to  time 

that   the  portions  may  be  distributed   afresh. 

The  trumpet  in  the  valley .  of  Jehosaphat  before 

it  has  made  a  sound, 

That  of  Bethlehem  when  Augustus  numbered  the 
people. 

34 


ACT  ONE:  SCENE  ONE 


The  trumpet  of  the  Assumption,  when  the  apostles 

were  assembled. 
The  voice  which  takes  the  place  of  the  Word 

when  the  Chief  no  longer  speaks 
To  the  body  that  seeks  union  with 
THE  MOTHER:  Jerusalem  is  st)  far  away! 
ANNE  VERCORS:   Paradise  is  still  farther. 
THE  MOTHER:    God  in  the  tabernacle  is  with  us 

even  here. 

ANNE  VERCORS:  But  not  that  great  hole  in  the  earth. 
THE  MOTHER:   What  hole? 
ANNE   VERCORS:    That   the   Cross   made   when   it 

was  set  there. 

Behold  how  it  draws  everything  to  itself. 
There  is  the  stitch  which  cannot  be  undone,  the 

knot  which  cannot  be  untied, 
The  heritage  of  all,  the  interior  boundary  stone 

that  can  never  be  uprooted, 

The  centre  and  the  navel  of  the  world,  the  ele- 
ment by  which  all  humanity  is  held  together. 
THE  MOTHER:  What  can  one  pilgrim  alone  do? 
ANNE  VERCORS:    1  am  not  alone!    A  great  multi- 
tude rejoice  and  depart  with  me! 
The  multitude  of  all  my  dead, 
Those  souls,  one  above  the  other,  of  whom  nothing 
is  left  now  but  the  tombstones,  all  those  stones 
baptized    with    me    who    claim    their    rightful 
place  in  the  structure! 

35 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

And  as  it  is  true  that  the  Christian  is  never  alone, 

but   is   in    communion   with   all   his   brothers, 

The  whole  kingdom  is  with  me,   invoking,   and 

drawing  near  to  the  Seat  of  God,  taking  anew 

its  course  toward  him, 

And  I  am  its  deputy  and  I  carry  it  with  me 
To  lay  it  once  again  upon  the  eternal  Pattern,] 
THE  MOTHER:   Who  knows  but  that  we  shall  need 

you  here? 
ANNE  VERCORS:  Who  knows  but  that  I  am  needed 

elsewhere  ? 
Everything  is  shaking;    who  knows  but  that  I 

obstruct  God's  plan  by  remaining  here 
Where  the  need  there  was  of  me  is  past  ? 
THE  MOTHER:    I  know  you  are  an  inflexible  man. 
ANNE  VERCORS  (tenderly,  changing  his  voice) :  To  me 
you  are  always  young  and  beautiful,  and  very 
great   is  the  love  I   feel  for  my  black-haired 
sweet  Elisabeth. 

THE  MOTHER:  My  hair  is  grey! 
ANNE  VERCORS:   Say  yes,  Elisabeth.  .  .  . 
THE  MOTHER:    Anne,  you  have  not  left  me  in  all 
these  thirty  years.     What  will  become  of  me 
without  my  chief  and  my  companion? 
ANNE  VERCORS:    .    .    .  The  yes  which  will  separate 

us  now,  very  low, 

As  round  as  the  oui  that  formerly  made  us  one. 

(Silence. 

36 


ACT  ONE:  SCENE  ONE 


THE  MOTHER  (speaking  very  low) :  Yes,  Anne. 
ANNE  VERCORS:    Have  patience,  Zabillet!    I  shall 

soon  return. 
Can  you  not  have  faith  in  me  a  little  while,  though 

I  am  not  here! 

Soon  will  come  another  separation. 
Come,  put  food  for  two  days  in  a  bag.     It  is 

time  I  was  off. 

THE  MOTHER:  What?    To-day,  even  to-day? 
ANNE  VERCORS:   Even  to-day. 

(Her  head  droops  and  she  does  not   move. 
He  takes  her  in   his  arms  but  she  does 
not  respond. 
Farewell,  Elisabeth. 
THE  MOTHER:  Alas,  old  man,  I  shall  never  see  you 

again. 
ANNE  VERCORS:  And  now  I  must  seek  Jacques. 


37 


Act  One:   Scene  Two 

(Enter  MARA. 
MARA  to  THE  MOTHER:    Go,  and  tell  him  she  is 

not  to  marry  him. 
THE    MOTHER:    Mara!    How   is   this?    You   were 

there? 
MARA:    Go,  I  tell  you,  and  tell  him  she  is  not  to 

marry  him. 
THE  MOTHER:    What,  she?    What,  he?    What  do 

you  know  of  her  marrying  him  ? 
MARA:  I  was  there.     I  heard  it  all. 
THE   MOTHER:    Very  well,  my  child!    Your  father 

wishes  it. 
You  have  seen  I  did  what  I  could,  and  his  mind 

is  not  changed. 
MARA:    Go  and  tell  him  that  she  is  not  to  marry 

him,  or  I  will  kill  myself! 
THE  MOTHER:   Mara! 
MARA:   I  will  hang  myself  in  the  wood-house,  there 

where  we  found  the  cat  hung. 
THE  MOTHER:    Mara!    Wicked  girl! 
MARA:   There  again  she  has  taken  him  away  from 

me!    Now  she  has  taken  him  away! 
It  was  always  I  who  was  to  be  his  wife,  and  not 

she. 
She  knows  very  well  it  is  I. 

38 


ACT  ONE:  SCENE  TWO 


THE  MOTHER:   She  is  the  eldest. 

MARA:  What  does  that  matter? 

THE  MOTHER:  It  is  your  father  who  wishes  it. 

MARA:   I  don't  care. 

THE  MOTHER:  Jacques  Hury 

Loves  her. 
MARA:    That   is   not   true!     I    know  well   enough 

that  you  do  not  love  me! 

You  have  always  loved  her  best!    Oh,  when  you 

talk  of  your  Violaine  it  is  like  talking  of  sugar, 

It  is  like  sucking  a  cherry  just  when  you  are  about 

to  spit  out  the  stone! 
But  Mara  the  magpie!     She  is  as  hard  as  iron, 

she  is  as  sour  as  the  wild  cherry! 
Added  to  that,  there's  always  the  talk  of  your 

Violaine  being  so  beautiful! 
And  behold,  she  is  now  to  have  Combernon! 
f  What    does    she    know    how    to    do,    the    ferret  ? 

which  of  us  two  can  drive  the  cart? 
She    thinks    herself  like    Saint    Onzemillevierges ! 
But,  as  for  me,  I  am  Mara  Vercors,  who  hates 
injustice  and  deceit, 
Mara  who  speaks  the  truth  and  it  is  that  which 

makes  the  servants  angry! 

Let  them  be  angry!  I  scorn  them.  Not  one  of 
the  women  dares  stir  in  my  presence,  the  hypo- 
crites! Everything  goes  as  smoothly  as  at  the 
mill. 

39 


THE  TIDINGS   BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

-And    yet^ ^everything   is   for   her   and   nothing 
for  me. 

THE  MOTHER:  You  will  have  your  share. 
MARA:   Aye,  truly!    The  sandy  ground  up  yonder! 
ooze  and  mud  that  it  needs  five  oxen  to  plough ! 
the  bad  ground  of  Chinchy. 
THE    MOTHER:  It   brings    in    good    profit    all    the 

same. 
MARA:    Surely. 

Long-rooted    reeds    and    cow-wheat,    senna,    and 

mullein! 

I  shall  have  enough  to  make  my  herb-tea. 
THE   MOTHER:    Bad  girl;    you  know  well  enough 

that  is  not  true! 

You  know  well  no  wrong  is  done  you ! 
But  you  have  always  been  wicked!    When  you 

were  little 

You  would  not  cry  when  you  were  beaten. 
iTell  me,  you  black-skinned  child,  you  ugly  onejj 
Is  she  not  the  eldest? 
What  have  you  against  her? 
Jealous  girl!    Yet  she  has  always  done  what  you 

wish. 
Very  well!     She  will  be  married  first,   and  you 

will  be  married,  you  also,  afterwards! 
And  it  is  too  late  to  do  differently  anyhow,  be- 
cause your  father  is  going  away  —  oh,  how  sad 
I  am! 

40 


ACT  ONE:    SCENE  TWO 


He  has  gone  to  speak  to  Violaine  and  he  will 

look  for  Jacques. 
MARA:     That's    true!    Go    at    once!    Go,    go    at 

once! 

THE  MOTHER:   Go  where? 
MARA  :     Mother,    come    now !  v  You    know   well    I 

am  the  one.     Tell  him  she  is  not  to  marry  him, 

maman! 

THE  MOTHER:  Surely  I  shall  do  no  such  thing. 
MARA:   Only  tell  him  what  I  have  said.     Tell  him 

that  I  will  kill  myself.     Do  you  understand? 

(She  looks  fixedly  at  her. 
THE  MOTHER:   Ha! 
MARA:  Do  you  believe  I  will  not  do  it? 
THE  MOTHER:  Alack,  I  know  you  would! 
MARA:    Go  then! 
MOTHER:   O 
Obstinate! 
MARA:  You  have  nothing  to  do  with  it. 
Only    to    repeat    to    him    just    what    I    have 

said. 
THE  MOTHER:  And  he  —  how  do  you  know  he  will 

be  willing  to  marry  you  ? 
MARA:   Certainly  he  will  not. 
THE  MOTHER:  Well.  .  .  . 
MARA:   Well ?  j 
THE  MOTHER:   Don't  think  that  I  shall  advise  him 

to  do  your  will !  —  on  the  contrary ! 


THE  TIDINGS   BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

I  will  only  tell  him  what  you  have  said.  I  It  is 

very  sure 
That  she  will  not  be  so  silly  as  to  give  in  to  you, 

if  she  will  listen  to  me.J 
MARA:  I  PerhapsJ —  Go.  —  Do  as  I  say. 

(She  goes  out. 


42 


Act  One:   Scene  Three 

(Enter  ANNE  VERCORS  and  JACQUES  HURY, 
afterwards  VIOLAINE,  and  then  the  farm 
labourers  and  servants. 

ANNE  VERCORS  (stopping):  Heh!  what  is  that  thou 

tell'st  me? 
JACQUES  HURY:   Just  as  I  say!    This  time  I  took 

him  in  the  act,  with  the  pruning-hook  in  his 

hand! 

I  came  up  softly  behind  him  and  all  of  a  sudden 
Flac !     I  threw  myself  full  length  on  him, 
As  you  throw  yourself  on  a  hare  in  her.  hole  at 

harvest 
And   there  beside  him  was  a  bunch  of  twenty 

young   poplars,   the   ones   you    set   such   store 

by! 
ANNE   VERCORS:    Why   did   he   not   come   to   me? 

I  should  have  given  him  the  wood  he  needed. 
JACQUES  HURY:   The  wood  he  needs  is  the  handle 

of  my  whip! 
It  is  not  need  but  wickedness,  the  idea  of  doing 

wrong ! 
These  ne'er-do-wells  from  Chevoche  are  always 

ready  to  do  anything 

43 


THE  TIDINGS   BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

Out  of  bravado,  and  to  defy  people! 

But  as  to  that  man,  I  will  cut  off  his  ears  with 

my  little  knife! 
ANNE  VERCORS:  No. 
JACQUES   HURY:    At  least  let  me  tie  him  by  his 

wrists  to  the  harrow,  before  the  big  gate, 
With    his   face   turned   against   the   teeth;    with 

Faraud  the  dog  to  watch  him. 
ANNE  VERCORS:  Not  that  either. 
JACQUES  HURY:  What  is  to  be  done  then? 
ANNE  VERCORS:    Send  him  home. 
JACQUES  HURY:  With  his  bundle  of  wood? 
ANNE  VERCORS:    And  with  another  that  thou  wilt 

give  him. 

JACQUES  HURY:   Father,  that  is  not  right. 
ANNE  VERCORS:   Thou  canst  tie  his  faggot  around, 

that  he  may  not  lose  any  of  it. 
That  will  help  him  in  crossing  the  ford  at  Saponay. 
JACQUES  HURY:   It  is  not  well  to  be  lax  about  one's 

rights. 

ANNE  VERCORS:  I  know  it,  it  is  not  well! 
Jacques,  behold  how  lazy  and   old   I  am,  weary 

of  fighting  and  defending. 
Once  I  was  harsh  like  thee. 

There  is  a  time  to  take  and  a  time  to  let  take. 
The   budding   tree   must   be   protected,   but   the 
tree    where    the    fruit    hangs    do    not    trouble 
thyself  about. 

44 


ACT  ONE:  SCENE  THREE 


Let  us  be  unjust  in  very  little,  lest  God  be  un- 
just to  me  in  much. 

—  And  besides,  thou  wilt  do  now  as  thou  wilt, 
for  thou  art  placed  over  Combernon  in  my 
stead. 

JACQUES  HURY:  What  do  you^say? 

THE  MOTHER:   He  is  going  a  pilgrim  to  Jerusalem. 

JACQUES  HURY:  Jerusalem? 

ANNE    VERCORS:     It    is    true.     I    start    this    very 
moment. 

JACQUES  HURY:  What?    What  does  that  mean? 

ANNE  VERCORS:  Thou  hast  heard  very  well. 

JACQUES  HURY:  Thou  wilt  leave  us  like  that,  when 
the  work  is  at  its  heaviest  ? 

ANNE  VERCORS:    It  is  not  necessary  to  have  two 
masters  at  Combernon. 

JACQUES  HURY:    My  father,  I  am  only  your  son! 

ANNE    VERCORS:    Thou   wilt   be   the   father   here, 
in  my  stead. 

JACQUES  HURY:   I  do  not  understand  you. 

ANNE   VERCORS:    I  am  going   away.    Take  Com- 
bernon from  me 

As  I  took  it  from  my  father,  and  he  from  his, 
And  Radulphe  the  Frank,  first  of  our  line,  from 

Saint  Remy  de  Rheims^ 

(Who  from  Genevieve  of  Paris  received  this  land, 
pagan  and  bristling  with  seedlings  and  wild 
thorns. 

45 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

Radulphe  and  his  children  made  it  Christian  by 

iron  and  by  fire 
And  laid  it  naked  and  broken  under  the  waters 

of  baptism. 

Hill  and  plain  scored  they  with  equal  furrows, 
As  an  industrious  scholar  copies  line  after  line 

the  word  of  God. 
And  they  began  to  build  Monsanvierge  on  the 

mountain,  in  that  place  where  Evil  was  wor- 
shipped, 
(And  at  first  there  was  naught  but  a  cabin  made 

of  logs  and  reeds,  whose  door  the  Bishop  came 

to  seal, 

And  two  holy  recluses  were  left  to  guard  it), 
And  at  the  mountain's  base,  Combernon,  a  dwelling 

armed  and  provisioned. 
Thus   this   land   is   free   that  we   hold   from   St. 

Remy   in   heaven,  paying  tithes   up   there    to 

this  flight,  one  moment  stayed,  of  murmuring 

doves. 
For  everything  is  of  God,  and  those  who  live  in 

Him  reap  without  ceasing  the  fruits  of  their 

works, 
Which  pass  and  come  back  to  us  again  in  their 

time  in  magnificent  succession; 
As  over  the  various  harvests  every  day  in  summer 

float    those    great    clouds    that    drift    toward 

Germany. 


ACT  ONE:  SCENE  THREE 


The  cattle  here  are  never  sick,  the  udders  and 
the  wells  are  never  dry;  the  grain  is  as  solid 
as  gold,  the  straw  as  firm  as  iron. 

And  for  defence  against  pillagers  we  have  arms, 
and  the  walls  of  Combernon,  and  the  King, 
our  neighbor. 

Gather  this  harvest  that  I  have  sown,  as  in  the 
past  I  myself  have  filled  again  the  furrows  my 
father  ploughed. 

O  joyful  work  of  the  farmer,  for  which  the  sun 
is  as  bright  as  our  glistening  ox,  and  the  rain 
is  our  banker,  and  God  works  with  us  every 
day,  making  of  everything  the  best ! 

Others  look  to  men  for  their  rewards,  but  we 
receive  ours  straight  from  heaven  itself, 

A  hundred  for  one,  the  full  ear  for  a  seed,  and 
the  tree  for  a  nut. 

For  such  is  the  justice  of  God  to  us,  and  the 
measure  with  which  He  repays  us. 

The  earth  cleaves  to  the  sky,  the  body  to  the 
spirit,  all  things  that  He  has  created  are  in 
communion,  all  have  need  of  one  anotherjf 

Take  the  handles  of  the  plough  in  my  stead,  that 
the  earth  may  bring  forth  bread  as  God  him- 
self has  wished. 

\Give  food  to  all  creatures,  men  and  animals,  to 
spirits  and  bodies,  and  to  immortal  souls,    j 

You,   women,|  labourers,!  look!     Behold   the   son 

47 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

I  have  chosen,  Jacques !  I  am  going  away  and 

he  stays  in  my  place.     Obey  him. 
JACQUES  HURY:   May  it  be  done  according  to  your 

will. 
ANNE  VERCORS:  Violaine! 

My  child,  first  born  instead  of  the  sou  I  have 

not  had! 
Heir  of  my  name  in  whom  I  too  shall  be  given 

to  another! 
Violaine,  when  thou  shalt  have  a  husband,  do  not 

scorn  the  love  of  thy  father. 
For  thou  canst  not  give  back  to  a  father  what 

he  has  given  thee,  when  thou  wouldst. 
Between  husband  and  wife  everything  is  equal; 

what  they  do  not  know  they  accept,  one  from 

the  other,  with  faith. 
This  is  the  mutual  religion,  this  is  the  servitude 

through  which   the  wife's   breast   grows   large 
•—  with  milk! 
/  But  the  father,  seeing  his  children  separate  from 

him,    recognizes   what   was   once   within   him- 
self.   My  daughter,  know  thy  father! 
A  Father's  love 
Asks  no  return,  and  the  child  has  no  need  either 

to  win  or  merit  it: 

As  it  was  his  before  the  beginning,  so  it  remains 
His   blessing   and   his   inheritance,   his   help,   his 

honour,  his  right,  his  justification! 


ACT  ONE:  SCENE  THREE 


My  soul  is  never  divided  from  the  soul  I  have 

transmitted. 
What  I  have  given  can  never  be  given  back.   Only 

know,  O  my  child,  that  I  am  thy  father! 
And  of  my  issue  there  is  no,  male.     Only  women 

have  I  brought  into  the  world. 
Nothing  but  that  thing  in  us  which  gives  and 

which  is  given.) 

— And  now  theliour  of  parting  is  come. 
VIOLAINE:   Father!   Do  not  say  such  a  cruel  thing! 
ANNE  VERCORS:  Jacques,  you  are  the  man  whom  I 

love.     Take    her!     I  give    you    my  daughter, 

Violaine.     Take  my  name  from  her. 
Love  her,  for  she  is  as  pure  as  gold. 
All  the  days  of  thy  life,  like  bread,  of  which  one 

never  tires. 

She   is   simple   and   obedient,    sensitive    and    re- 
served. 
Do  not  cause  her  any  sorrow,  and  give  her  only 

kindness. 
Everything   here   is   thine,    except   what   will   be 

given  to  Mara,  in  accordance  with  my  plan. 
JACQUES  HURY:    What,  my  father,  your  daughter, 

your  property  .  .  . 
ANNE  VERCORS:    I  give  you  all  at  once,  as  all  is 

mine. 
JACQUES  HURY:    But  who  knows  if  she  still  cares 

for  me? 

49 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

ANNE  VERCORS:  Who  knows? 

(She  looks  at  JACQUES   and  forms   "Yes" 

with  her  lips,  without  speaking. 
JACQUES  HURY:  You  care  for  me,  Violaine? 
VIOLAINE:    My  father  wishes  it. 
JACQUES  HURY:  You  wish  it  too? 
VIOLAINE:   I  wish  it  too. 
JACQUES  HURY:   Violaine! 

How  shall  we  get  on  together? 
VIOLAINE:    Consider  well  while  there  is  yet  time! 
JACQUES  HURY:    Then  I  take  you  by  God's  com- 
mand, and  I  will  nevermore  let  you  go. 

(He  takes  her  by  both  hands. 

I  have  you  and  hold  you,  your  hand  and  the 

arm  with  it,  and  all  that  comes  with  the  arm. 

Parents,  your  daughter  is  no  longer  yours!     She 

is  mine  only! 
ANNE  VERCORS:  Well,  they  are  married;  it  is  done! 

What  say  you,  mother? 

THE  MOTHER:    I  am  very  glad!  (She  weeps. 

ANNE  VERCORS:   She  weeps,  my  wife! 

There!    that  is  how  they  take  our  children  from 

^us  and  we  shall  be  left  alone, 

I  The  old  woman  who  lives  on  a  little  milk  and  a 

small  bit  of  cake, 
And  the  old  man  with  his  ears  full  of  white  hairs 

like  the  heart  of  an  artichoke. 
— Let  them  make  ready  the  wedding-dress! 


ACT  ONE:  SCENE  THREE 


— Children,  I  shall  not  be  at  your  wedding. 
VIOLAINE:   What,  father! 
THE  MOTHER:  Anne! 
ANNE  VERCORS:  I  am  going.    Now. 
VIOLAINE:  O  father!  before  we  are  married. 
ANNE   VERCORS:    It   must  be^    Your  mother  will 
explain  all  to  you.j  (Enter  MARA. 

THE  MOTHER:  How  long  shall  you  stay  over  there? 
ANNE  VERCORS:    I  do  not  know.     It  may  be  but 

a  short  time. 

I  shall  soon  be  coming  back.  (Silence. 

\  VOICE  OF  A  CHILD  (in  the  distance):   Oriole,  oriole! 

all  alone! 

Who  eats  the  wild  cherry  and  throws  out  the  stone! 
ANNE  VERCORS:  The  oriole,  rosy  and  golden,  whistles 

in  the  heart  of  the  tree. 
What  does  he  say?   that  after  these  long  days  of 

heat 
The   rain  last   night  was  like  a   shower  of  gold 

falling  upon  the  earth. 
What  does  he  say?    he  says  it  is  good  weather 

for  ploughing. 

WThat  more  does  he  say?  that  the  weather  is  fine, 
that  God  is  great,  and  that  it  is  still  two  hours 
of  noon. 

What  more  does  the  little  bird  say? 
That  it  is  time  for  the  old  man  to  go 
Elsewhere,  and  leave  the  world  to  itself. 

Si 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

— Jacques,   I    leave  to  you    all  my  property,  — • 

protect  these  women. 

JACQUES  HURY:  What,  are  you  really  going? 
ANNE  VERCORS:    I  believe  he  has  heard  nothing. 
JACQUES  HURY:   Like  that,  right  away? 
ANNE  VERCORS:  The  hour  is  come. 
THE  MOTHER:  You  will  not  go  without  first  eating? 
f (During  this  time  the  women  servants  have 

prepared  the  table  for  the  farm  meal.  \ 
ANNE  VERCORS:  (to  a  woman  servant)'.  Ho!  my  bag, 

my  hat! 

(Bring  my  shoes!  bring  my  cloaldj 
I  have  not  time  enough  to  share  this  meal  with 

you. 

THE   MOTHER:    Anne!    How  long  wilt  thou  stay 
over  there?    One  year,  two  years?     More  than 
two  years? 
ANNE  VERCORS:  One  year.    Two  years.    Yes,  that 

is  it. 
f  Put  on  my  shoes. 

(THE  MOTHER  kneels  before  him  and  puts  on 

his  shoes. 

For  the  first  time  I  leave  thee,  O  house! 
Combernon,  lofty  dwelling! 
Watch   faithfully   over   it   all!    Jacques   will   be 

here  in  my  stead. 

There  is  the  hearth  where  there  is  always  fire,  there 
is  the  long  table  where  I  give  food  to  my  people. 

52 


ACT  ONE:  SCENE  THREE 


All  take  your  places!    Just  once  more  I  will  cut 
the  bread.  .  .  . 

(He  seats  himself  at  the  head  of  the  long 
table,  with  THE  MOTHER  at  his  right. 
All  the  men  and  women  servants  stand, 
each  at  his  place. 

He  takes  the  bread,  making  the  sign  of  the 
cross  above  it  with  the  knife,  and  cuts  it; 
and  gives  it  to   VIOLAINE   and  MARA   to 
pass.     The   last   piece   he    keeps    himself. 
Then  he  turns  solemnly  toward  THE  MOTHER 
and  opens  his  arms.  [ 
Farewell,  Elisabeth! 
THE   MOTHER   (weeping  in   his  arms):    Thou   wilt 

never  see  me  more. 

ANNE  VERCORS  (in  a  lower  tone) :    Farewell,  Elisa- 
beth. 

(He  turns  toward  MARA,  looks  gravely  at 
her  for  a  long  time,  and  then  holds  out  his 
hand  to  her. 

Farewell,  Mara!   be  virtuous. 
MARA  (kissing  his  hand):    Farewell,  father! 

(Silence.  ANNE  VERCORS  stands,  looking 
before  him  as  if  he  did  not  see  VIOLAINE,  who 
stands  full  of  agitation  at  his  side.  At 
last  he  turns  slightly  toward  her,  and  she 
puts  her  arms  around  his  neck,  sobbing, 
with  her  face  against  his  breast. 

53 


THE  TIDINGS   BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

ANNE  VERCORS/  (to  the  men  servants,  as  if  be  noticed 

nothing):   Farewell,  all! 
I  have  always  dealt  justly  by  you.     If  any  one 

denies  this,  he  lies. 

I  am  not  like  other  masters.     But  I  praise  when 
praise  is  due,  and  I  reprove  when  reproof  is 
due. 
Now  that  I  am  going  away,  do  your  duty  as  if 

I  were  there. 

For   I    shall   return.     I    shall   return   some   time 
when  you  do  not  expect  me. 

(He  shakes  hands  with  them  all.l 
Let  my  horse  be  brought! 

(Silence.     He  leans  toward  VIOLAINE,  who 

continues  to  embrace  him. 
What  is  it,  little  child? 

You  have  exchanged  a  husband  for  thy  father. 
VIOLAINE:   Alas!    Father!   Alas! 

(He  removes  her  hands  gently  from  around 

his  neck. 

THE  MOTHER:  Tell  me  when  will  you  return. 
ANNE  VERCORS:  I  cannot  tell. 

Perhaps  it  will  be  in  the  morning,   perhaps  at 

mid-day,  when  you  are  eating. 
And  perhaps,  awaking  some  night,  you  will  hear 

my  step  on  the  road. 
Farewell!  (He  goes. 


54 


Act  Two:  Scene  One 

A  fortnight  later.     The  beginning  of  July.     Noon. 

A  large  orchard  planted  with  ^regular  rows  of  round 
trees.  Higher,  and  a  little  withdrawn,  the  wall  and 
towers  and  long  buildings  with  tiled  roofs  of  Combernon. 
Then,  the  side  of  the  hill,  which  rises  abruptly,  and  on 
its  summit  the  massive  stone  arch  of  Monsanvierge, 
without  door  or  window,  with  its  five  towers  like  those 
of  the  Cathedral  of  Laon,  and  in  its  side  the  great  white 
scar  made  for  the  recent  entrance  of  the  Queen  Mother 
of  France. 

Everything  vibrates  under  an  ardent  sun. 


I 


A  WOMAN'S  VOICE  on  high,  from  the  height  of  the 
highest  tower  of  Monsanvierge. 

SALVE  REGINA  MATER  MISERICORD!^ 

VITA   DULCEDO    ET   SPES   NOSTRA   SALVE 

AD  TE   CLAMAMUS   EXULES   FILII   HEV^ 

AD  TE    SUSPIRAMUS  GEMENTES    ET   FLENTES    IN  HAC 

LACRYMARUM    VALLE 
EIA    ERGO    ADVOCATA    NOSTRA    ILLOS    TUOS    MISERI- 

CORDES    OCULOS    AD    NOS    CONVERTE 
ETJESUM  BENEDICTUM  FRUCTUM  VENTRIS  TUI  NOBIS 

POST    HOC    EXILIUM    OSTENDE 
O    CLEMENS 
O    PIA 

ss 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

O   DULCIS    VIRGO    MARIA 

(Long  pause  during  which  the  stage  remains 
empty. 

(Enter  THE  MOTHER  and  MARA. 
MARA:  What  did  she  say? 

THE  MOTHER:   I  drew  her  out  as  we  talked,  with- 
out  seeming   to.     You   see   how   she   has   lost 
her  gay  spirits  these  last  few  days. 
MARA:   She  never  talks  much. 
THE  MOTHER:    But  she  does  not  laugh  any  more. 

That  troubles  me. 
Perhaps  it  is  because  Jacquin  is  away,  but  he 

returns  to-day. 
—And  her  father  too  is  gone. 
MARA:  That  is  all  thou  said  to  her? 
THE  MOTHER:    That  is  what  I   said  to  her,   and 
the  rest  of  it  without  changing  a  word,  just  as 
you  said  it  to  me:   Jacquin  and  you:   that  you 
love  him  and  all. 

And  I   added,  and  I   said  it  over  two  or  three 
times,  that  this  time  she  must  not  be  foolish, 
and  not  resist  at  all, 
Or  break  off  the  marriage,  which  is  as  good  as 

made,  against  the  father's  will. 
What  would  people  think  of  it  ? 
MARA:   And  what  did  she  answer? 
THE  MOTHER:   She  began  to  laugh,  and  I,  I  began 
to  cry. 

56 


ACT  TWO:  SCENE  ONE 


MARA:  I  will  make  her  laugh! 

THE  MOTHER:    It  was  not  the  laughter  I  love  of 

my  little  girl,  and  I  began  to  cry. 
And  I  said,  "No,  no,  Violaine,  my  child!"  not 

knowing  any  longer  what  I  said. 
But  she,  without  speaking,  made  a  sign  with  her 

hand  that  she  wanted  to  be  alone. 
Ah!  what  misery  we  have  with  our  children! 
MARA:   Hush! 
THE  MOTHER:   What  is  it? 

I  am  sorry  for  what  I  have  done. 
MARA:    Well!    Do  you  see  her  down  there  in  the 
paddock?     She    is   walking   behind    the    trees. 
Now  she  is  out  of  sight. 

(Silence.     From   behind  the   scene   is   heard 

the  blast  of  a  horn. 
THE    MOTHER:    There   is   Jacquin   come   back.     I 

know  the  sound  of  his  horn. 
MARA:  Let  us  go  further  off.  (They  move  off. 


57 


Act  Two:   Scene  Two 

(Enter  JACQUES  HURY. 
JACQUES  HURY   (looking  all  around) :    I   don't   see 

her. 

And  yet  she  sent  word 
That  she  wanted  to  see  me  this  morning, 
Here. 

(Enter  MARA.  She  advances  to  JACQUES, 
and  at  six  paces  before  him  drops  a  cere- 
monious courtesy. 

JACQUES  HURY:  Good  morning,  Mara. 
MARA:   My  lord,  your  servant! 
JACQUES  HURY:   What  is  this  foolery? 
MARA:    Do  I  not  owe  you  respect?    Are  you  not 
the   master  here,   dependent   only   upon   God, 
like  the  King  of  France  himself  and  the  Em- 
peror Charlemagne? 

JACQUES  HURY:    Jest  if  you  like,  but    it    is  true 
all  the  same!    Yes,  Mara,  it  is  glorious!     Dear 
sister,  I  am  too  happy! 
MARA:    I   am  not   your  dear   sister!    I    am   your 

servant  because  I  must  be. 
Man  of  Brainebyson  of  a  serf!     I  am  not  your 

sister;   you  are  "hot  of  our  blood! 
JACQUES  HURY:  I  am  the  husband  of  Violaine. 

58 


ACT  TWO:  SCENE  TWO 


MARA:  You  are  not  that  yet. 

JACQUES  HURY:  I  shall  be  to-morrow. 

MARA:   Who  knows? 

JACQUES    HURY:     Mara,    I    have    thought    deeply 

about  it, 
And  I  believe  you  have  only  dreamed  that  story 

you  told  me  the  other  day. 
MARA:   What  story? 
JACQUES  HURY:   Don't  pretend  not  to  know. 

That  story  about  the  mason,  that  secret  kiss  at 

dawn. 
MARA:    It  is  possible.     I  did  not   see  well.     Yet 

I  have  good  eyes. 
JACQUES  HURY:   And  it  has  been  whispered  to  me 

that  the  man  is  a  leper! 
MARA:   I  do  not  love  you,  Jacques. 

But  you  have  the  right  to  know  all.  /All  must 

be    pure    and    clear    at    Monsanvierge,    which 

is   held   up   like   a   monstrance  before   all   the 

kingdom. 
JACQUES  HURY:    All  that  will  be  explained  in  a 

moment. 
MARA:    You   are   clever  and    nothing    can   escape 

you. 
JACQUES  HURY:    I  see  at  any  rate  that  you  don't 

love  me. 
MARA:  There!   there!    What  did  I  say?   what  did 


I  say ?J 


59 


THE  TIDINGS   BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

JACQUES   HURY:    Everybody  here   is   not   of  your 

mind. 
MARA:    You  speak  of  Violaine?     I  blush  for  that 

little  girl. 

It  is  shameful  to  give  oneself  like  that, 
Soul,  body,  heart,  skin,  the  outside,  the  inside, 

and  the  root. 
JACQUES  HURY:    I  know  that  she  belongs  entirely 

to  me. 
MARA:   Yes. 

How  grandly  he  speaks!    how  sure  he  is  of  the 

things  that  belong  to  him!     Brainard  of  Braine! 

Only  those  things  belong  to  one  that  one  has 

made,  or  taken,  or  earned. 
JACQUES  HURY:   But  Mara,  I  like  you,  and  I  have 

nothing  against  you. 
MARA  :    Without  doubt  —  like  all  the  rest  of  the 

things  here? 

JACQUES  HURY:    It  is  no  fault  of  mine  that  you 
are  not  a  man,  and  that  I  take  your  property 
*  from  you ! 
MARA  :  How  proud  and  satisfied  he  is !     Look  at  him, 

he  can  hardly  keep  from  laughing! 
There  now!   don't  do  yourself  harm!     Laugh! 

(He  laughs. 

I  know  your  face  well,  Jacques. 
JACQUES  HURY:  You  are  angry  because  you  cannot 
make  me  unhappy. 

60 


ACT  TWO:  SCENE  TWO 


MARA:    Like  the  other  day  while  the  father  was 

talking, 
When  one   of  your  eyes  smiled    and   the   other 

wept  —  without  tears. 

JACQUES  HURY:  Am  I  not  master  of  a  fine  estate? 
MARA:    And  the  father  was  old,  wasn't  he?    You 

know  a  thing  or  two  more  than  he  does? 
JACQUES  HURY:  To  each  man  his  day. 
MARA:    That  is  true,  Jacques,  you  are  a  tall  and 

handsome  young  man. 
See  him,  how  he  blushes. 
JACQUES  HURY:  Don't  torment  me. 
MARA:  All  the  same,  it  is  a  pity! 
JACQUES  HURY:  What  is  a  pity? 
MARA:    Farewell,  husband  of  Violaine!     Farewell, 

master  of  Monsanvierge  —  ah  —  ah! 
JACQUES  HURY:  I  will  show  you  that  so  I  am. 
MARA:  Then  understand  the  spirit  of  this  place, 

Brainard  of  Braine! 
IHe  thinks  that  everything  is  his,  like  a  peasant; 

you  will  be  shown  the  contrary! 
Like  a  peasant  who  sees  nothing  higher  than  him- 
self as  he  stands  in  the  midst  of  his  flat  little 
field! 

But  Monsanvierge  belongs  to  God,  and  if  he  master 
of  Monsanvierge  is  God's  man,  who  has  nothing 
For  himself,  having  received  everything  for  an- 
other. 

61 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

That  is  the  lesson  passed  on  here  from  father  to 
son.     There  is  no  higher  position  than  ours. 
Take  on  the  spirit  of  your  masters,  peasant! 

(She   makes   as   if  to   go   and   turns   back. 
Ah! 

Violaine,  when  I  met  her, 
Gave  me  a  message  for  you. 

JACQUES  HURY:    Why  did  you  not  say  so  sooner? 
MARA:    She  is  waiting  for  you  near  the  fountain. 


62 


Act  Two:  Scene  Three 

The  fountain  of  the  Adoue.  It  is  a  large  square 
orifice  cut  in  a  vertical  wall,  built  of  blocks  of  limestone. 
A  thin  stream  of  water  drips  from  it  with  a  melan- 
choly sound.  Thank-offerings  of  crosses  made  of  straw 
and  bouquets  of  faded  flowers  are  hung  on  the  wall. 

The  fountain  is  surrounded  with  luxurious  trees,  and 
with  a  bower  of  rose-bushes  whose  abundant  blossoms 
thickly  star  the  •  green  foliage. 

JACQUES  HURY  (he  looks  at  VIOLAINE  who  comes 
along  the  winding  path'.  She  is  all  golden,  and 
glows  brilliantly  at  moments  when  the  sun  falls 
upon  her  between  the  leaves) :  O  my  betrothed 
among  the  flowery  branches,  hail! 

(VIOLAINE  enters  and  stands  before  him.     She 
is  clothed  in  a  linen  gown  with  a  kind  of 
dalmatic    of    cloth-of-gold    decorated    with 
large  red  and  blue  flowers.     Her  head  is 
crowned  with  a  diadem  of  enamel  and  gold. 
Violaine,  how  beautiful  you  are ! 
VIOLAINE:   Jacques!    Good  morning,  Jacques!    Ah, 

how  long  you  stayed  down  there! 
JACQUES  HURY:  I  had  to  get  rid  of  everything,  and 

sell,  in  order  to  be  perfectly  free. 
To  be  the  man  of  Monsanvierge  only  and  yours. 

63 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

—What  is  this  wonderful  dress? 
VIOLAINE  :   I  wore  it  for  you.     I  had  spoken  to  you 

about  it.     Do  you  not  recognize  it? 
It  is  the  habit  of  the  nuns  of  Monsanvierge,  ex- 
cept  only  the  maniple,   the  habit   they  wear 
in  the  choir, 

The    deacon's    dalmatic    which    they    have    the 
privilege    of   wearing,    something    priestly,    as 
they  themselves  are  holy  sacrifices, 
And   the  women  of  Combernon  have   the    right 

to  wear  it  twice: 

First,  on  the  day  of  their  betrothal, 
Secondly,  on  the  day  of  their  death. 
JACQUES  HURY:   It  is  really  true,  then,  that  this  is 

the  day  of  our  betrothal,  Violaine  ? 
VIOLAINE:    Jacques,  there  is  yet  time,  we  are  not 

married  yet! 

If  you  have  only  wanted  to  please  my  father 

there  is  still  time  to  withdraw;  it  concerns  no 

one  but  us.     Say  but   a  word,   and   I  would 

not  want  you  any  more,  Jacques. 

For  nothing  has  yet  been  put  in  writing,   and 

I  do  not  know  if  I  still  please  you. 
JACQUES  HURY:    How  beautiful  you  are,  Violaine! 
And  how  beautiful  is  the  world  of  which  you 
are  the  portion  reserved  for  me. 
VIOLAINE:    It  is  you,  Jacques,  who  are  all  that  is 
best  in  the  world. 


ACT  TWO:  SCENE  THREE 


r JACQUES  HURT:    Is  it  true  that  you  are  willing  to 
belong  to  me? 

VIOLAINE:    Yes,  it  is  true!    good  morning,  my  be- 
loved!    I  am  yours. 
JACQUES  HURY:    Good  morning,   my  wife!    Good 

morning,  sweet  Violaine! 

VIOLAINE:   These  are  good  things  to  hear,  Jacques! 

JACQUES  HURY:    You  must  always  be  there!    Tell 

me  that  you  will  always  be  the  same,  the  angel 

who  is  sent  to  me! 

VIOLAINE:     For   evermore   all   that    is   mine    shall 

always  be  yours. 

JACQUES    HURY:    And    as    for   me,    Violaine.  .  .  . 

VIOLAINE:    Say  nothing.     I  ask  you  nothing.     You 

are  there,  and  that  is  enough  for  me.     Good 

morning,  Jacques  !j 

Ah,   how  beautifuTthis  hour  is,   and   I   ask  for 

nothing  more. 
JACQUES    HURY:     To-morrow    will    be    still    more 

beautiful ! 

VIOLAINE:    To-morrow  I   shall  have  taken  off  my 
p  -      gorgeous  robe. 
I  JACQUES  HURY:   But  you  will  be  so  near  to  me  that 

I  shall  no  longer  be  able  to  see  you. 
VIOLAINE  :  Very  near  to  you  indeed ! 
JACQUES  HURY:  Your  place  is  ready. 

Violaine,  what  a  solitary  spot  this  is,  and  how 
secretly  I  am  here  with  you ! 

65  ' 


THE  TIDINGS   BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

VIOLAINE   (in  a  low  tone) :    Your  heart  is   enough. 

Go  to,  I  am  with  you,  and  say  not  a  word  more. 
JACQUES  HURY:    But  to-morrow,  before  everybody, 

I  will  take  this  Queen  in  my  arms. 
VIOLAINE  :  Take  her,  and  do  not  let  her  go. 

Ah,  take  your  little  one  with  you  so  that  they 

can  never  find  her,  and  never,  do  her  any  harm .\l 
JACQUES  HURY:   And  you  will  not  regret  then  the 

linen  and  the  gold? 
VIOLAINE:    Was  I  wrong  to  make  myself  beautiful 

for  one  poor  little  hour? 
JACQUES  HURY:   No,  my  beautiful  lily,  I  can  never 

tire  of  looking  at  you  in  your  glory! 
VIOLAINE:    O   Jacques!     tell    me    again   that    you 

think  me  beautiful! 
JACQUES  HURY:  Yes,  Violaine! 
VIOLAINE  :  The  most  beautiful  of  all,  and  the  other 

women  are  nothing  to  you? 
JACQUES  HURY:   Yes,  Violaine. 
VIOLAINE  :  And  that  you  love  me  only,  as  the  tender- 

est  husband  loves  the  poor  creature  who  has 

given  herself  to  him? 
JACQUES  HURY:  Yes,  Violaine. 
VIOLAINE:    Who  gives  herself  to  him  with  all  her 

heart,  Jacques,  believe  me,  and  holds  nothing 

back. 
JACQUES   HURY:    And   you,   Violaine,   do  you   not 

believe  me  then? 

66 


ACT  TWO:  SCENE  THREE 


VIOLAINE:    I  believe  you,  I  believe  you,  Jacques! 
I  believe  in  you!     I  have  confidence  in  you, 
my  darling! 
JACQUES  HURY:    Why,  then,  do  you  seem  troubled 

and  frightened  ? 

Show  me  your  left  hand.  (She  shows  it. 

My  ring  is  gone. 
VIOLAINE:    I   will   explain   that   to   you   presently, 

you  will  be  satisfied. 
JACQUES  HURY:    I  am  satisfied,  Violaine.     I  have 

faith  in  you. 
VIOLAINE:    I    am  more   than    a    ring,  Jacques.     I 

am  a  great  treasure. 
JACQUES  HURY:   Yes,  Violaine. 
VIOLAINE  :  Ah,  if  I  give  myself  to  you, 

Will  you  not  know  how  to  save  your  little  one 
.^      who  loves  you? 

JACQUES  HURY:   There  you  are  doubting  me  again. 

VIOLAINE:    Jacques!    After   all   I   do   no   harm   in 

loving  you.     It  is  God's  will,  and  my  father's. 

It   is   you  who  have   charge  of  me!    And  who 

knows  if  you  will  not  know  perfectly  how  to 

defend  and  save  me? 

It  is  enough  that  I  give  myself  entirely  to  you. 

The  rest  is  your  affair,  and  no  longer  mine. 
JACQUES  HURY:   And  is  it  like  this  you  give  your- 
self to  me,  my  flower-o'-the-sun  ? 
VIOLAINE:  Yes,  Jacques. 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

JACQUES  HURY:  Who  then  can  take  you  out  of  my 

arms  ? 
VIOLAINE:    Ah,   how   big   the  world   is,   and   how 

alone  we  are! 
JACQUES   HURY:     Poor   child!    I   know   that   your 

father  is  gone. 

And  I  too  no  longer  have  anyone  with  me  to 
tell  me  what  should  be  done,  and  what  is  good 
or  ill. 

You  must  help  me,  Violaine,  as  I  love  you. 
VIOLAINE:  My  father  has  abandoned  me. 
JACQUES  HURY:  But  I  remain  to  you,  Violaine. 
VIOLAINE:    Neither  my  mother  nor  my  sister  love 

me,  though  I  have  done  them  no  wrong. 
And  nothing  is  left  to  me  but  this  tall,  terrible 
man  whom  I  do  not  know,  i 

(He    tries    to    take    her   in    his    arms.     She 

pushes  him  away  quickly. 
Do  nOtLtouch  me,  Jacques! 
JACQUES  HURY:   Am  I  then  a  leper? 
VIOLAINE  :     Jacques,  I  want    to    speak   to    you  — 

ah,  but  it  is  hard! 

Do  not  fail  me,  who  now  have  only  you! 
JACQUES  HURY:   Who  would  do  you  harm? 
VIOLAINE:    Know  what  you  do  in  taking  me  for 

_ your  wife! 

j  Let   me   speak   to   you   very   humbly,   my   lord 
Jacques, 

68 


ACT  TWO:  SCENE  THREE 


Who  are  about  to  receive  my  soul  and  my  body 

from  the  hands  of  God  according  to  his  com- 
mand, and  my  father's  who  made  them. 
And  know  the  dowry  I  bring  to  you  which  is  not 

like  those  of  other  women, 
But  this  holy  mountain  wrapped  in  prayer  day 

and  night  before  God,  like  an  altar  smoking 

always, 
And  this  lamp  whose  light  is  never  suffered  to 

go  out,  and  whose  oil  it  is  our  duty  to  replenish. 
And  no  man  is  witness  to  our  marriage,  but  that 

Lord  whose  fief  we  alone  hold, 
Who  is  the  Omnipotent,  the  God  of  the  Armies. 
And  it  is  not  the  sun  of  July  that  lights  us,  but 

the  light  of  his  countenance. 
To  the  holy  be  the  holy  things!    Who  knows  if 

our  heart  be  pure? 
Never  until  now  has  a  male  been  lacking  to  our 

race,    and   always   the   sacred   place  has   been 

handed  down  from  father  to  son, 
And  behold,  for  the  first  time  it  falls  into  the 

hands    of   a   woman,    and    becomes   with    her 

the  object  of  desire. 
JACQUES  HURY:   Violaine  —  no:   I  am  not  a  scholar 

nor  a  monk  nor  a  saint. 
I  am  not  the  lay-servant  of  Monsanvierge,  nor 

the  keeper  of  its  turning-box. 
I  have  a  duty  and  I  will  perform  it, 

69 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

Which  is  to  feed  these  murmuring  birds, 

And  to  fill  each  morning  the  basket  they  lower 
from  the  sky. 

That  is  written  down.    That  is  right. 

I  have  understood  that,  and  I  have  fixed  it  in 
my  head,  and  you  must  not  ask  any  more 
of  me. 

You  must  not  ask  me  to  understand  what  is 
above  me,  and  why  these  holy  women  have 
imprisoned  themselves  up  there  in  that  pigeon- 
house. 

To  the  heavenly  be  heaven,  and  the  earth  to  the 
earthly. 

For  the  wheat  will  not  grow  by  itself,  and  a  good 
ploughman  is  necessary. 

And  I  can  say  without  boasting  that  such  I  am, 
and  no  one  can  teach  me  that,  not  even  your 
father  himself  perhaps, 

For  he  was  old  and  set  in  his  ways. 

To  each  one  his  own  place,  and  that  is  justice. 

And  your  father,  in  giving  you  to  me, 

Together  with  Monsanvierge,  knew  what  he  was 

doing,  and  that  was  just. 

VIOLAINE:    But  Jacques,  I  do  not  love  you  be- 
cause it  is  just. 

And  even  if  it  were  not  just,  I  would  love  you 

the  same,  and  morej 

JACQUES  HURY:  I  do  not  understand  you,  Violaine. 

70 


ACT  TWO:    SCENE  THREE 


VIOLAINE:   Jacques,  do  not  make  me  speak!    You 
love  me  so  much,  and  I  can  only  do  you  harm. 
Let  me  alone!    there  cannot  be  justice  between 
us  two!   but  only  faith  and  charity.     Go  away 
from  me  while  there  is  yet  time. 
JACQUES  HURY:  I  do  not  understand,  Violaine. 
VIOLAINE:    My  beloved,  do  not  force  me  to  tell 

you  my  great  secret. 
JACQUES  HURY:  A  great  secret,  Violaine? 
VIOLAINE:    So  great  that  all  is  over,  and  you  will 

not  ask  to  marry  me  any  more. 
JACQUES  HURY:   I  do  not  understand  you. 
VIOLAINE:    Am  I  not  beautiful  enough  just  now, 

Jacques  ?    What  more  do  you  ask  of  me  ? 
What  does  one  ask  of  a  flower 
Except  to  be  beautiful  and  fragrant  for  a  moment, 

poor  flower,  and  then  —  the  end. 
The  flower's  life  is  short,  but  the  joy  it  has  given 

for  a  minute 
Is  not  of  those  things  which  have  a  beginning 

and  an  end. 

Am  I  not  beautiful  enough?  Is  something  lack- 
ing? Ah!  I  see  thine  eyes,  my  beloved!  Is 
there  anything  in  thee  at  this  moment  that 
does  not  love  me,  and  that  doubts  me? 
Is  my  soul  not  enough?  Take  it,  and  I  am  still 
here,  and  absorb  to  its  depths  that  which  is 
all  thine! 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

To  die  requires  but  a  moment,  and  to  die  in 
each  other  would  not  annihilate  us  more  than 
love,  and  does  one  need  to  live  when  one  is 
dead? 

What  more  wouldst  thou  do  with  me?  Fly,  take 
thyself  away!  Why  dost  thou  wish  to  marry 
me?  Why  dost  thou  wish 

To  take  for  thyself  what  belongs  only  to  God  ? 

The  hand  of  God  is  upon  us,  and  thou  canst  not 
defend  me! 

0  Jacques,  we  shall  never  be  husband  and  wife 
in  this  world! 

JACQUES  HURY:  Violaine,  what  are  these  strange 
words,  so  tender,  so  bitter?  By  what  threat- 
ening and  gloomy  paths  are  you  leading  me? 

1  believe  you  wish  to  put  me  to  the  proof,  and 
to  triumph  over  me,  who  am  but  a  simple  and 
rough  man. 

Ah !    Violaine,  how  beautiful  you  are  like  this ! 
and  yet  I  am  afraid,  and  I  see  you  in  clothing 
that  terrifies  me! 
For  this  is  not  a  woman's  dress,  but  the  robe  of 

one  who  offers  the  sacrifice  at  the  altar, 
Of  him  who  waits  upon  the  priest,  leaving  the 
— *side  uncovered  and  the  arms  free! 
I  Ah,  I  see,  it  is  the  spirit  of  Monsanvierge  which 
lives  in  you,  the  supreme  flower  outside  of  this 
sealed  garden! 

72 


ACT  TWO:  SCENE  THREE 


Ah,  do  not  turn  to  me  that  face  which  is  no 
longer  of  this  world!  that  is  no  longer  my 
dear  Violaine. 

There  are  enough  angels  to  serve  the  mass  in 
Heaven ! 

Have  pity  on  me,  who  am  only  a  man  without 
wings,  who  rejoiced  in  this  companion  God 
had  given  me,  and  that  I  should  hear  her  sigh 
with  her  head  resting  on  my  shoulder ! 

Sweet  bird!  the  sky  is  beautiful,  but  it  is  beauti- 
ful too  to  be  taken  captive! 

And  the  sky  is  beautiful!  but  this  is  a  beautiful 
thing  too,  and  even  worthy  of  God,  the  heart  of 
a  man  that  can  be  filled,  leaving  no  part  emptvJ.J 

Do  not  torment  me  by  depriving  me  of  your  face! 

And  no  doubt  I  am  a  dull  and  ugly  man, 

But  I  love  you,  my  angel,  my  queen,  my  darling! 
VIOLAINE:   So  I  have  warned  you  in  vain,  and  you 
want  to  take  me  for  your  wife,  and  you  will 
not  give  up  your  plan? 
JACQUES  HURY:   Yes,  Violaine. 
VIOLAINE:    When  a  man  takes  a  woman  for  his 
wife  they  are  then  one  soul  in  one  body,  and 
nothing  will  ever  separate  them. 
JACQUES  HURY:   Yes,  Violaine. 
VIOLAINE:   You  wish  it! 

Then  it  is  not  right  that  I  should  reserve  anything, 
or  keep  to  myself  any  longer 

73 


THE  TIDINGS   BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

This  great,  this  unspeakable  secret. 
JACQUES  HURY:  Again  this  secret,  Violaine? 
VIOLAINE:   So  great,  truly,  Jacques, 

That  your  heart  will  be  saturated  with  it, 

And  you  will  ask  nothing  more  of  me, 

And  that  we  shall  never  be  torn  apart  from  each 

other. 

A  secret  so  deep 
That  neither  life,  Jacques,  nor  hell,  nor  Heaven 

itself 

Will  ever  end  it,  or  will  ever  end  this 
Moment  in  which  I  have  revealed  it,  here  in  the 

burning 
Heat  of  this  terrible  sun  which  almost  prevents 

us  from  seeing  each  other! 
JACQUES  HURY:    Speak,    then! 
/VIOLAINE:    But  tell  me  first  once  more  that  you 

love  me. 

JACQUES  HURY:   I  love  you! 
VIOLAINE:    And   that   I    am   your  wife   and   your 

only  love? 

JACQUES  HURY:   My  wife,  my  only  love. 
VIOLAINE  :  Tell  me,  Jacques:  neither  my  face  nor  my 
soul  has  sufficed  thee,  and  that  is  not  enough? 
And  have  you  been  misled  by  my  proud  words?  j 

Then  learn  of  the  fire  which  consumes  me! 
Know  this  flesh  which  you  have  loved  s6  much! 
Come  nearer  to  me.  (He  comes  nearer. 

74 


ACT  TWO:   SCENE  THREE 


Nearer!    nearer  still!    close  against  my  side.)  Sit 
down  on  that  bench.J  (Silence. 

And  give  me  your  knife. 

(He  gives  her  his  knife.  She  cuts  the  linen 
of  her  gown,  at  her^  side  upon  the  hearty 
under  the  left  breast,  and  leaning  towards 
him  she  opens  the  slit  with  her  hands  and 
shows  him  the  flesh  where  the  first  spot  of 
leprosy  has  appeared.  Silence. 

JACQUES    HURY    (slightly    turning    away    his  face): 
Give  me  the  knife. 

(She  gives  it  to  him.     Silence.     Then  Jacques 
moves   a  few   steps   away  from   her,   half 
turning  his  back,  and  he  does  not  look  at 
her  again  until  the  end  of  the  Act. 
JACQUES    HURY:     Violaine,    I    am    not    mistaken? 
What  is  this  silver  flower  emblazoned 

on  your  flesh? 

VIOLAINE  :  You  are  not  mistaken. 
JACQUES  HURY:  It  is  the  malady?  it  is  the  malady, 

Violaine? 

VIOLAINE:   Yes,  Jacques. 
JACQUES  HURY:    Leprosy! 
VIOLAINE:   Surely  you  are  hard  to  convince. 

And  you  had  to  see  it  to  believe. 
JACQUES   HURY:    And  which  leprosy   is   the   most 

hideous, 
That  of  the  soul  or  that  of  the  body? 

75 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO- MARY 

» 

VIOLAINE:    I  cannot  say  as  to  trie  other.     I  only 

know  that  of  the  body,  which  is  bad  enough. 
JACQUES    HURY:    No,    you    know    not    the   other, 

reprobate  ? 

VIOLAINE:   I  am  not  a  reprobate. 
JACQUES  HURY:   Infamous  woman,  reprobate, 

Infamous  in  your  soul  and  in -your  flesh! 
VIOLAINE:    So  you  do  not  ask  any  more  to  marry 

me,  Jacques? 

JACQUES  HURY:    Scoff  no  *nore,  chilcj  of  the  devil! 
VIOLAINE  :  Such  is  that  great  love  you  had  for  me. 
JACQUES  HURY:   Such  is  this  lily  that  I  had  chosen. 
VIOLAINE:    Such  is  the   man  who  takes  the  place 

of  my  father. 
JACQUES  HURY:    Such  is  the  angel  that  God  had 

sent  me. 
VIOLAINE:   Ah,  who  will   tear  us  apart   from  each 

other?     I    love    you,    Jacques,    and    you    will 

defend  me,  and  I  know  that  in  thy  arms  I  have 

nothing  to  fear. 
JACQUES  HURY:    Do  not  mock  thyself  with  these 

horrible  words! 
VIOLAINE  :  Tell  me, 

Have   I   broken   my   word?     My   soul   was   not 

enough  for  thee?    Have  you  enough  now  of 

my  flesh? 
Will   you   forget   henceforth   your  Violaine,   and 

the  heart  she  revealed  to  thee? 


ACT  TWO:  SCENE  THREE 


JACQUES  HURY:  Go  farther  away  from  me! 
VIOLAINE:   Go  to,  I  am  far  enough  away,  Jacques; 

you  have  nothing  to  fear. 
JACQUES  HURY:  Yes,  yes, 

Further  than  you  were  from  that  measled  pig  of 

yours ! 

That  maker  of  bones  whereon  the  flesh  rots! 
VIOLAINE:  Is  it  of  Pierre  de  Craon  that  you  speak? 
JACQUES  HURY:  It  is  of  him  I  speak,  him  you  kissed 

on  the  mouth. 

VIOLAIJSTE:  And  who  has  told  you  that? 
JACQUES  HURY:   Mara  saw  you  with  her  own  eyes. 
And  she  has  told  me  all,  as  it  was  her  duty  to  do, 
And  I,  fool  that  I  was,  did  not  believe  it! 
Come,  confess   it!    confess   it  then!     It  is  true! 

Say  that  it  is  true! 
VIOLAINE:   It  is  true,  Jacques. 

Mara  always  speaks  the  truth. 
JACQUES  HURY:  And  it  is  true  that  you  kissed  him 

on  the  face? 
VIOLAINE:   It  is  true. 

JACQUES  HURY:    O  damned  one!    are  the  flames 
of  hell   so  savory  that   you  have  thus  lusted 
after  them  while  you  were  still  alive? 
VIOLAINE    (speaking  very   low):    No,    not   damned. 
But  sweet,  sweet  Violaine!   sweet,  sweet  Violaine! 
JACQUES  HURY:    And  you  do  not  deny  that  this 
man  had  you  and  possessed  you  ? 

77 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

VIOLAINE:   I  deny  nothing,  Jacques. 

JACQUES   HURY:    But   I   love   you   still,   Violaine! 

Ah,  this  is  too  cruel! 
Tell  me  something,  even  if  you  have  nothing  to 

say,  and  I  will  believe  it!     Speak,  I  beg  you! 

tell  me  it  is  not  true! 
VIOLAINE:    I  cannot  turn  all  black  in  a  minute, 

Jacques;    but  in  a  few  months,  a  few  months 

more, 

You  will  not  recognize  me  any  longer. 
JACQUES  HURY:    Tell  me  that  all  this  is  not  true. 
VIOLAINE:   Mara  always  speaks  the  truth,  and  then 

there  is  that  flower  upon  my  body  that  you 

have  seen. 

JACQUES  HURY:    Farewell,  Violaine. 
VIOLAINE:   Farewell,  Jacques. 
JACQUES  HURY:  Tell  me,  what  shall  you  do,  wretched 

woman  ? 
VIOLAINE:    Take  off  this  robe.     Leave  this  house. 

Fulfil    the   law.     Show   myself   to   the   priest. 

Go  to  ... 

JACQUES  HURY:   Well? 
VIOLAINE:    .    .    .  the  place    set    apart    for    people 

like  me. 

The  lazar-house  of  the  Geyn,  over  there. 
JACQUES  HURY:  When? 
VIOLAINE:  To-day — this  very  evening. 

(Long  silence. 

78 


ACT  TWO:    SCENE  THREE 


There  is  nothing  else  to  be  done. 

JACQUES    HURY:     We    must    avoid    any    scandal. 

Go,  take  off  your  robe  and  put  on  a  travelling 

dress,  and  I  will  tell  you  what  it  is  right  to 

do.  (  They  go  out. 


79 


Act  Two:  Scene  Four 

The  kitchen  at  Combernon,  as  in  ACT  I 

THE    MOTHER:     Every   day   the   weather    is   fine. 
It  has  not  rained  for  eight  days.  (She  listens. 

Now  and  then  I  hear  the  bells  of  Arcy. 
/Dong!    Dong|J 

How  warm  it  is,  and  how  large  everything  looks! 
What    is   Violaine   doing?    and   Jacques?    What 

have  they  to  talk  about  so  long? 
I  am  sorry  for  what  I  said  to  her  (She  sighs. 

And  what  is  the  crazy  old  man  doing?    Where 

is  he  now? 

Ah!  (She  bows  her  head. 

MARA  (entering  quickly):  They  are  coming  here.  I 
think  the  marriage  is  broken  off.  Do  you  hear 
me? 

Be  silent, 
And  say  nothing. 
THE  MOTHER:    What? 

O    wicked    girl!     wretch!   You    have    got    what 

you  wished  for! 
MARA:    Let  it  alone.     It  is  only  for  a  moment. 

There  was  no  other  way 
It  could  be  done.     So,  now  it  is  I 

80 


ACT  TWO:  SCENE  FOUR 


He  must  marry  and  not  she.     It  will  be  better 
for  her  like  that.     It  must  be  thus.     Do  you 
hear? 
Be  silent! 

THE  MOTHER:  Who  told  you  that? 
MARA:   Was  there  need  for  me  to  be  told?    I  saw 

it  all  in  their  faces. 
I    came    upon    them    all    warm.     I    understood 

everything  in  no  time  at  all. 
And  Jacques,  poor  fellow,  I  pity  him. 
THE  MOTHER:  I  am  sorry  for  what  I  said! 
MARA:  You  have  said  nothing;  you  know  nothing  — 

be  silent! 
And  if  they  say  anything  to  you,  no  matter  what 

they  tell  you, 
Agree  with  them,  do  everything  they  wish.     There 

is  nothing  more  to  do. 
THE  MOTHER:  I  hope  all  is  for  the  best. 


81 


Act  Two:   Scene  Five 

(Enter  JACQUES  HURY,  then  VIOLAINE  all  in 

black,  dressed  as  for  a  journey. 
THE  MOTHER:  What  is  the  matter,  Jacques?    What 

is  the  matter,  Violaine? 
Why  have  you  put  on  this  dress,  as  if  you  were 

going  away? 

VIOLAINE  :  I,  too,  am  going  away. 
THE  MOTHER:  Going  away?    You  going  away,  too? 

Jacques !  what  has  happened  between  you  ? 
JACQUES  HURY:  Nothing  has  happened. 

But  you  know  that  I  went  to  see  my  mother  at 

Braine,  and  have  only  just  returned. 
THE  MOTHER:  Well? 

JACQUES  HURY:    You  know,  she  is  old  and  feeble. 
She  says  she  wishes  to  see  and  bless 
Her  daughter-in-law  before  she  dies. 
THE  MOTHER:  Can  she  not  come  to  the  wedding? 
JACQUES  HURY:    She  is  ill,  she  cannot  wait. 

And   this   harvest   time,   too,   when   there   is   so 

much  to  be  done 
Is  not  the  time  to  be  married. 
We   have  just   been   talking   about   it,   Violaine 
and  I,  just  now,  very  pleasantly, 
82 


ACT  TWO:  SCENE  FIVE 


And  we  have  decided  that  it  is  best  to  wait  till 
The  autumn. 

Until  then  she  will  stay  at  Braine  with  my  mother. 
THE  MOTHER:  Is  this  your  wish,  Violaine? 
VIOLAINE:   Yes,  mother. 
THE  MOTHER:  But  what!    Do  you  wish  to  go  away 

this  very  day? 

VIOLAINE:    This  very  evening. 
JACQUES  HURY:  I  shall  go  with  her. 

Time  is  short  and  work  pressing  in  this  month 
of  hay   and   harvest.     I   have   already   stayed 
away  too  long. 
THE  MOTHER:    Stay,  Violaine!    Do  not  go  away 

from  us,  thou  too! 

VIOLAINE:    It  is  only  for  a  short   time,  mother! 
THE  MOTHER:   A  short  time,  you  promise? 
JACQUES  HURY:    A  short  time,  and  when  autumn 

comes 
Here  she  will  be  with  us  again,  never  to  go  away 

any  more. 
THE  MOTHER:   Ah,  Jacques!    Why  do  you  let  her 

go  away? 

JACQUES  HURY:  Do  you  think  it  is  not  hard  for  me? 
MARA:  Mother,  what  they  both  say  is  reasonable. 
THE  MOTHER:  It  is  hard  to  see  my  child  leave  me. 
VIOLAINE:  Do  not  be  sad,  mother! 

What  does  it  matter  that  we  should  wait  a  few 
days? 

83 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

It  is  only  a  little  time  to  pass. 

Am  I  not  sure  of  your  affection?   and  of  Mara's? 

and  of  Jacques',  my  betrothed  ? 
Is  it  not  so,  Jacques?    He  is  mine  as  I  am  his, 

and  nothing  can  separate  us?     Look  at  me,  dear 

Jacques.     See  how  he  weeps  to  see  me  go  away! 
This  is  not  the  time  for  weeping,  mother!    am  I 

not  young  and  beautiful  and  loved  by  every- 
body? 
My  father  has  gone  away,  it  is  true,  but  he  has 

left  me  the  tenderest  of  husbands,  the  friend 

who  will  never  forsake  me. 
So  it  is  not  the  time  to  weep,  but  to  rejoice. 

Ah,   dear   mother,   how  beautiful   life   is,   and 

how  happy  I  am! 
MARA:   And  you,  Jacques,  what  do  you  say?    You 

do  not  look  very  happy. 
JACQUES  HURY:    Is  it  not  natural  that   I   should 

be  sad? 
MARA:    Come!    it  is  only  a  separation  for  a  few 

months ! 

JACQUES  HURY:  Too  long  for  my  heart. 
MARA:    Listen,   Violaine,   how  well   he   said   that! 
And  how  is  this,  my  sister,  you  so  sad  too?     Smile 

at  me  with  that  charming  mouth!     Raise  those 

blue  eyes  that  our  father  loved  so  much.     See 

Jacques!     Look    at    your    wife    and    see    how 

beautiful  she  is  when  she  smiles! 


ACT  TWO:  SCENE  FIVE 


She  will  not  be  taken  away  from  you !  who  would 

be  sad  who  has  a  little  sun  like  this  to  shine 

in  his  home? 
Love  her  well  for  us,  cruel  man!    Tell  her  to 

be  brave! 
JACQUES  HURY:    Courage,  Violaine! 

You  have  not  lost  me ;  we  are  not  lost  to  each  other ! 
You  see  that  I  do  not  doubt  your  love;   but  do 

you  doubt  mine? 
Do  I  doubt  you,  Violaine?    Do  I  not  love  you, 

Violaine?    Am  I  not  sure  of  you, 
Violaine ! 
I  have  talked  about  you  to  my  mother,  and  you 

may  imagine  how  happy  she  will  be  to  see  you. 
It  is  hard  to  leave  the  house  of  your  parents. 

But  where  you  are  going  you  will  have  a  safe 

shelter  where  no  one  can  break  in. 
Neither    your    love    nor    your    innocence,    dear 

Violaine,  has  anything  to  fear. 
THE  MOTHER:   These  are  very  loving  words, 

And  yet  there  is  something  in  them,  and  in  what 

you  said  to  me,  my  child, 
I   don't   know  what  —  something  strange  which 

does  not  please  me. 
MARA:    I  see  nothing  strange,  mother. 
THE  MOTHER:    Violaine!    If  I  hurt  you  just  now, 

my  child, 
Forget  what  I  said. 

85 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

VIOLAINE:  You  have  not  hurt  me. 
THE  MOTHER:  Then  let  me  embrace  you. 

(She  opens  her  arms  to  her. 
VIOLAINE:   No,  mother. 
THE  MOTHER:   What? 
VIOLAINE:  No. 

MARA:    Violaine,  that  is  wrong!    Do  you  fear  to 
have  us  touch  thee?    Why  do  you  treat  us 
thus,  like  lepers? 
VIOLAINE  :  I  have  made  a  vow. 
MARA:  What  vow? 

VIOLAINE  :  That  nobody  shall  touch  me. 
MARA:   Until  your  return  here? 

(Silence.     She  lowers  her  head. 
JACQUES   HURY:    Let  her  alone.    You   see  she  is 

troubled. 
THE  MOTHER:  Go  away  for  a  moment. 

(They  move  away. 
Farewell,  Violaine! 
You  will  not  deceive  me,   my  child;    you  will 

not  deceive  the  mother  who  bore  thee. 
What  I  have  said  to  you  is  hard;    but  look  at 

me,  I  am  full  of  trouble,  and  I  am  old. 
You  —  you  are  young,  and  you  will  forget. 
My  man  is  gone,  and  now  here  is  my  child  turn- 
ing away  from  me. 

One's  own  sorrow  is  nothing,  but  the  sorrow  one 
has  caused  to  others 

86 


ACT  TWO:  SCENE  FIVE 


Makes  bitter  the  bread  in  the  mouth. 
Think  of  that,  my  sacrificed  lamb,  and  say  to 
yourself:  Thus  I  have  caused  sorrow  to  no  one. 
I  counselled  thee  as  I  thought  for  the  best.     Don't 
bear  malice,  Violaine!     Save  your  sister.     Must 
she  be  left  to  be  ruined? 

And  God  will  be  with  you,  who  is  your  recom- 
pense. 
That   is   all.    You  will   never   see   my  old   face 

again.     May  God  be  with  thee! 
And  you  do  not  wish  to  kiss  me,  but  I  can  at 
least  give  you  my  blessing,  sweet,  sweet  Violaine ! 
VIOLAINE:  Yes,  mother!    yes,  mother! 

(She  kneels,   and  THE   MOTHER   makes  the 

sign  of  the  cross  above  her. 

JACQUES  (returning) :  Come,  Violaine,  it  is  time  to  go. 
MARA:    Go  and  pray  for  us. 
VIOLAINE  (calling):    I  give  you  my  dresses,  Mara, 

and  all  my  things! 
Have  no  fear  of  them;  you  know  that  I  have  not 

touched  them. 
I  did  not  go  into  that  room. 

—  Ah,  ah!    my  poor  wedding-dress  that  was  so 
pretty! 

(She  stretches  out  her  arms  as  if  to  find 
support.  All  remain  at  a  distance  from 
her.  She  goes  out  tottering,  followed  by 
JACQUES. 

87 


Act  Three:   Scene  One 

Chevoche.  A  large  forest  sparsely  grown  with  lofty 
oaks  and  birches,  with  an  undergrowth  of  pines ,  firs, 
and  a  few  holly  trees.  A  wide  straight  road  has  just 
he  en  cut  through  the  woods  to  the  horizon.  Workmen 
are  removing  the  last  stumps  of  trees  and  preparing  the 
roadway.  There  is  a  camp  at  one  side,  with  huts  made 
of  faggots,  a  pot  over  a  camp-fire,  etc.  The  camp  lies 
in  a  sand-pit,  where  a  few  workmen  are  engaged  in 
loading  a  cart  with  a  fine  white  sand.  An  apprentice  of 
Pierre  de  Craon,  squatting  among  the  dry  gorse  bushes, 
oversees  the  work.  On  either  side  of  the  new  road  stand 
two  colossi  made  of  faggots,  with  collars  and  smocks  of 
white  cloth,  each  with  a  red  cross  on  its  breast.  A  bar- 
rel forms  the  head  of  each  colossus,  with  its  edge  cut  into 
saw-teeth  to  simulate  a  crown,  and  a  sort  of  face  roughly 
painted  on  it  in  red.  A  long  trumpet  is  fitted  to  the 
bunghole,  and  held  in  place  by  a  board  as  if  by  an  arm. 

It  is  the  end  of  the  day.  There  is  snow  on  the  ground 
and  in  the  sky. 

It  is  Christmas  Eve. 

THE    MAYOR    OF    CHEVOCHE:     There.     Now    the 

King  can   come. 
A  WORKMAN:    'A  can  coom  an'  'a  likes.     We've 

done  our  part  well. 


ACT  THREE:    SCENE  ONE 


THE  MAYOR  (looking  around  with  satisfaction):  It's 
mighty  beautiful!  Fact  is,  it  can  hold  every- 
body, as  many  as  there  are,  men,  women,  and 
tiny  children. 

And  to  think  'twas  the  worst  part,  with  all  these 

bad  weeds  and  these  briars,   and  the  marsh. 

It  ain't  the  wise  ones  of  Bruyeres  can  teach  us 

anything. 

A  WORKMAN:  Their  road  has  a  beard,  and  teeth 
too,  wi'  all  those  stumps  they's  left  us!  ^ 

(They  laugh 

THE  APPRENTICE  (pedantically,  in  a  voice  frightfully 
sharp  and  shrill):  Vox  clamantis  in  deserto: 
Parate  vias  Domini  et  erunt  prava  in  directa 
et  aspera  in  vias  planas. 

It  is  true  you  have  done  your  work  well.  I  con- 
gratulate you,  good  people.  It  is  like  the  road 
at  Corpus  Christi. 

(Pointing  to   the   Giants):    And  who,   gentlemen, 

are  these  two  beautiful  and  reverend  persons? 

A  WORKMAN:  Beant  they  handsome?    It  was  fathe' 

Vincent,    the    old    drunkard,    thet    made    'em. 

'A  said  it's  th'  great  King  of  Abyssinia  an'  his 

wife  Bellotte. 
THE   APPRENTICE:     For  my   part   I   thought   they 

were  Gog  and  Magog. 

THE  MAYOR:  'Tis  the  two  Angels  of  Chevoche 
who  come  to  salute  the  King  their  lord. 

89 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

They'll  be  set  a-fire  when  'a  passes. 
Listen!  (All  listen. 

A  WORKMAN:   Oh,  no,  that  beant  him  yet.     We'd 

hear  the  bells  o'  Bruyeres  a-ringin'. 
ANOTHER:    'A  won't   be  here  afore  midnight.     'A 

supped  at  Fisme. 
ANOTHER:    Tis   a  good   place  to   see   from,   here. 

I  shallna  budge. 
ANOTHER:  Hast  'a  eat,  Perrot?     I've  on'y  a  mossel 

o'  bread,  all  froze. 

THE   MAYOR:    Don't  be  afraid.     The's   a  quarter 
o'  pork  in  the  pot  and  some  big  sausages,  and 
the  roebuck  we  killed, 
And  three  ells  o'  blood-sausages,  and  apples,  and 

a  good  little  keg  of  Marne  wine. 
THE  APPRENTICE  :  I  stay  with  you. 
^*  A  WOMAN  :  And  there's  a  good  little  Christmas  for  you. 
THE  APPRENTICE:    It  was  on  Christmas  Day  that 

King  Clovis  was  baptized  at  Rheims. 
ANOTHER  WOMAN:    'Tis  Christmas  Day  that  oor 
King  Charles  comes  back  to  get  hi' self  crowned. 
ANOTHER:   TTIs  a  village  girl,  sent  by  God, 

Who  brings  him  back  to  his  own. 
ANOTHER:  Jeanne,  they  call  her! 
ANOTHER:   The  Maid! 
ANOTHER:  Who  was  born  on  Twelfth  Night! 
ANOTHER:     Who    drove    the    English    away    from 
Orleans  when  they  besieged  it! 
90 


ACT  THREE:    SCENE  ONE 


ANOTHER  WORKMAN:  And  who's  goin'  to  drive 
'em  out  of  France  too,  all  of 'em!  Amen: 

ANOTHER  WORKMAN  (humming):  Noel!  Cock-a- 
doodle-do!  Noel!  Noel  come  again!  Rrr! 
how  cauld  it  be! 

(He    wraps    himself    closer    in    his    cloak. 

A  WOMAN:  Mus'  look  well  t'  see  if  the's  a  little 
man  all  in  red  clothes  by  th'  King.  That's  her. 

ANOTHER  WOMAN:  On  a  tall  black  horse. 

THE  FIRST  WOMAN:  On'y  six  months  agone  her  was 
keepin'  her  father's  cows. 

ANOTHER  WOMAN:  And  now  her  carries  a  banner 
where  Jesus  is  in  writ  in'. 

A  WORKMAN:  An'  that  the  English  run  away 
before  like  mice. 

ANOTHER  WORKMAN:  Let  the  wicked  Bourguignons 
o'  Saponay  beware! 

ANOTHER  WORKMAN:  They'll  all  be  at  Rheims 
at  the  break  o'  day. 

ANOTHER  WORKMAN:  What  be  they  doin',  those 
down  there? 

THE  APPRENTICE:  The  two  bells  of  the  Cathe- 
dral, Baudon  and  Baude,  will  be  rung  at 
the  Gloria  at  midnight,  and  they  will  never 
stop  swinging  and  clanging  until  the  French 
come. 

Everybody  will  keep  a  lighted  candle  in  his  house 
until  morning. 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

They  expect  the  King  to  be  there  for  the  Mass 

at  dawn,  which  is  "Lux  fulgebit." 
All  the  clergy  will  go  out  to  meet  him,  three 

hundred  priests  and  the  Archbishop  in  copes  of 

gold,  and  the  monks,  the  M  ayor  and  the  vestry. 
All  that  will  be  very  beautiful  on  the  snow,  in 

the  bright  merry  sunshine,  with  all  the  people 

singing  "Noel"! 
And  they  say  that  the  King  intends  to  get  down 

from  his  horse,  and  enter  his  good  city  riding 

upon  an  ass,  like  our  Lord. 
THE  MAYOR:   How  comes  it  that  you  did  not  stay 

down  there? 
THE  APPRENTICE:   Master  Pierre  de  Craon  sent  me 

here  to  get  sand. 
THE  MAYOR:  What!    He  busies  himself  about  sand 

at  such  a  time? 

THE  APPRENTICE:  He  says  there  is  not  much  time. 
THE    MAYOR:     But    how    could    he    employ    him- 
self better  than  in  making  this  road,  as  we  do  ? 
THE  APPRENTICE:   He  says  that  his  work  is  not  to 

make  roads  for  the  King,  but  a  dwelling  for 

God. 
THE    MAYOR:    Of  what   use  would   Rheims  be   if 

the  King  could  not  reach  it? 
THE  APPRENTICE:   But  what  use  would  the  road  be 

if  there  is  no  church  at  the  end  of  it  ? 
THE  MAYOR:  He  is  not  a  good  Frenchman. 

92 


ACT  THREE:    SCENE  ONE 


THE  APPRENTICE:  He  says  that  he  knows  nothing 
but  his  work.  If  anybody  talks  politics  to  us, 
we  blacken  his  nose  with  the  bottom  of  the 
frying-pan. 

THE  MAYOR:  He  has  not  even  been  able  to  finish 
his  Justice,  though  'tis  ten  years  they've  been 
working  on  it. 

THE  APPRENTICE:   On  the  contrary!    All  the  stone 
is    polished,    and    the   woodwork   is    in    place; 
it's  only  the  spire  that  has  not  yet  done  growing. 
THE  MAYOR:   They  never  work  on  it. 
THE  APPRENTICE  :  The  master  is  preparing  the  glass 
for  his  windows  now,  and  that  is  why  he  sends 
us  here  for  sand; 
Though  that  is  not  his  craft. 
All  winter  he  has  worked  among  his  furnaces. 
To  make  light,  my  poor  people,  is  more  difficult 

than  to  make  gold, 

To  breathe  on  this  heavy  matter  and   make  it 
transparent,  "according  as  our  bodies  of  mud 
shall  be  changed  into  bodies  of  glory," 
As  Saint  Paul  said. 

And  he  says  that  he  must  find  for  each  colour 
The   mother-colour   itself,   just    as   God    himself 

made  it. 

^That  is  why,  into  his  great  clean  vessels,  full  of 
shining  water,  he  pours  jacinth,  ultramarine, 
rich  gold,  vermilion, 

93 


THE  TIDINGS   BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

And    he    watches    these    beautiful    rose-coloured 

liquids  to  see  what  happens  to  them  in  the 

sunshine,  and  by  virtue  of  the  grace  of  God, 

and  how  they  mingle  and  bloom  in  the  matrass. 

And  he  says  there  is  not  one  colour  which  he 

cannot  make  out  of  his  own  knowledge  alone, 

As  his  body  makes  red  and  bluej 

Because  he  wishes  the  Justice  of  Rheims  to  shine 

like  the  morning  on  the  day  of  her  nuptials. 

THE  MAYOR:  They  say  he  has  leprosy. 

THE  APPRENTICE:    That  is  not  true!    I  saw  him 

naked  last  summer. 
While   he   bathed    in   the  Aisne   at   Soissons.     I 

know  what  I  say! 
His  flesh  is  as  healthy  as  a  child's. 
THE    MAYOR:     It    is    queer,    all    the    same.     Why 

did  he  keep  himself  hidden  so  long? 
THE  APPRENTICE:   That  is  a  lie. 
THE  MAYOR:   I  know,  I  am  older  than  you.     You 
mustn't  get  angry,  little  man.     It  doesn't  matter 
if  he  be  sick  in  the  body. 
It  isn't  with  his  body  he  works. 
THE  APPRENTICE:   Better  not  let  him  hear  you  say 
that !    I  remember  how  he  punished  one  of  us  be- 
cause he  stayed  all  the  time  in  his  corner,  drawing: 
He  sent  him  up  on  the  scaffolding  to  serve  the 
masons  all  day  and  pass  them  their  hods  and 
their  stones, 

94 


ACT  THREE:    SCENE  ONE 


Saying  that  by  the  end  of  the  day  he  would  know 
two  things  better  than  he  could  learn  them  by 
rule  and  design:  the  weight  a  man  can  carry 
and  the  height  of  his  body. 

And  as  the  grace  of  God  multiplies  each  of  our 
good  deeds, 

So  he  taught  us  about  what  he  calls  "the  shekel 
of  the  Temple,"  and  this  dwelling  of  God  .of 
which  each  man  who  does  all  that  his  body 

~is  capable  of  doing  is  like  a  secret  foundation* 

1  What  means  the  thumb,  and  the  hand,  and  the 
arm's  length,  and  the  spread  of  both  our  arms, 
and  the  arm  extended,  and  the  circle  it  makes, 

And  the  foot  and  the  step; 

And  how  all  these  things  are  never  the  same. 

Do  you  think  Father  Noah  was  indifferent  to 
the  body  when  he  built  the  ark?  and  are  these 
things  of  no  account: 

The  number  of  paces  from  the  door  to  the  altar, 
and  the  height  the  eye  may  be  lifted  to,  and 
the  number  of  souls  the  two  sides  of  the  Church 
may  hold  all  at  the  same  time? 

For  the  heathen  artist  made  everything  from  the 
outside,  but  we  make  all  from  within,  like  the  bees, 

And  as  the  soul  does  for  the  body:  nothing  is 
lifeless,  everything  lives,  . 

Everything  gives  thanks  in  act  ion.  J 
THE  MAYOR:  The  little  man  talks  well. 

95 


THE  TIDINGS   BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

A  WORKMAN:    Hear  him,  like  a  magpie,  all  full  of 

his  master's  words. 
THE  APPRENTICE:    Speak  with  respect  of  Pierre  de 

Craon ! 
THE  MAYOR:    Tis  true  he's  a  burgher  of  Rheims, 

and  they  call  him  Master  of  the  Compass. 
As  they  used  to  call  Messire  Loys 
The  Master  of  the  Rule. 
ANOTHER:  Throw  some  wood  on  the  fire, 

Perrot,riook  it's  beginning  to  snow. 

(It  snows.  \  {Night  has  come.  Enter  MARA 
dressed  in  black,  carrying  a  bundle  under 
her  cloak. 

MARA:  Are  these  the  people  of  Chevoche? 
THE  MAYOR:  'Tis  ourselves. 
MARA:   Praised  be  Jesus  Christ. 
THE  MAYOR:   Amen! 
MARA:    Is  it  around  here  I'll  find  the  little  cell  of 

the  Geyn? 

THE  MAYOR:  Where  the  leper  woman  lives? 
MARA:   Yes. 

THE  MAYOR:  Not  exactly  here,  but  close  by. 
ANOTHER:  You  want  to  see  the  leper  woman? 
MARA:    Yes. 
A  MAN:    She  can't  be  seen;    she  always  wears  a 

veil  over  her  face,  as  it's  ordered. 
ANOTHER:    And  well   ordered!    it   isn't   myself  as 

wants  to  see  her. 

96 


ACT  THREE:    SCENE  ONE 


MARA:  It's  a  long  time  you've  had  her? 

A  MAN:   A'most  eight  years,  and  we'd  like  it  well 

not  to  have  her  at  all. 
MARA:   Is  that  because  she  has  done  harm? 
A  MAN:    No,  but  all  t'samevit's  unlucky  to  have 

these  varmint  kind  of  folk  near  by. 
THE  MAYOR:   And  then,  'tis  the  parish  that  feeds 

her. 
A  MAN:    By  the  way,  I  bet  they've  forgot  to  take 

her  her  bite  to  eat  for  three  days,  with  all  these 

doings  about  the  road! 

A  WOMAN:  And  what  do  you  want  o'  this  woman? 
(MARA  makes  no  reply,  but  stands,  looking  at 

the  fire. 
A  WOMAN:   A  person  would  say  it's  a  child  you're 

a-holdin'  in  your  arms? 
ANOTHER  WOMAN:   It's  a  fearsome  cold  to  take  out 

little  children  at  such  an  hour. 
MARA:    It  is  not  cold. 

(Silence.     There  is  heard,  from  the  darkness 

under  the  trees,  the  sound  of  a  wooden  rattle. 

AN   OLD   WOMAN:  Wait!    there's  her!    there's  her 

click-click!    Holy    Virgin!     what    a    pity    her 

ain't  dead! 
A  WOMAN:   'A  comes  to  ask  for  her  food.     No  fear 

her'll  forget  that! 

A  MAN:  What  a  plague  'tis  to  feed  such  varmint. 
ANOTHER:   Toss  her  somethin'.     She  mustn't  come 

97 


THE  TIDINGS   BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

anigh    to    us.     First    thing    you    know    she'd 
give  us  the  poison. 

ANOTHER:    No   meat,    Perrot!    It's   fast   day,    it's 

Christmas  Eve!  (They  laugh. 

Throw  her  this  mossel  o'  bread  that's  froze.     Good 

enough  for  the  like  o'  her! 

A  MAN  (calling)'.   Heigh,  No-face!    Heigh,  Jeanne, 
I  say,  hallo,  rotting  one! 

(The  black  form  of  the  leper  woman  is  seen 

on  the  snow.     MARA  looks  at  her. 
Catch  it! 

(He   throws    her   swiftly    a   piece   of  bread. 
She  stoops  and  picks  it  up  and  goes  away. 
MARA  follows  her. 
A  MAN:  Where  is  it  she's  going? 
ANOTHER:     Here,   woman!     hallo!    where   be    you 
going,  what  be  you  doing? 

(MARA  and  THE   WOMAN  go  farther  away. 


Act  Three:   Scene  Two 

"They  disappear  within  the  forest,  leaving  their  tracks 
upon  the  snow.  The  night  brightens.  The  brilliant 
moon,  surrounded  by  an  immense  halo,  lights  up  a  hillock 
covered  with  heather  and  white  sand.  Enormous  sand- 
stone rocks,  fantastically  formed,  rise  here  and  there  like 
beasts  belonging  to  the  fossil  ages,  like  inexplicable  monu- 
ments or  idols  with  deformed  heads  and  limbs.  And 
the  leper  woman  conducts  MARA  to  the  cave  where  she 
lives,  a  kind  of  low  cavern  in  which  it  is  impossible  to 
stand  upright.  The  back  of  the  cave  is  closed,  leaving 
only  an  opening  for  the  smoke. 


99 


Act  Three :   Scene  Three 

VIOLAINE:   Who  is  this 

That  does  not  fear  to  walk  with  the  leper  woman  ? 
You  must  know  that  it  is  dangerous  to  be  near 

her,  and  her  breath  is  deadly. 
MARA:    It  is  I,  Violaine. 
VIOLAINE:    O  voice,  so  long  unheard!    Is  it  you, 

mother  ? 

MARA:    It  is  I,  Violaine. 
VIOLAINE:   It  is  your  voice  and  another. 

Let  me  light  this  fire,  for  it  is  very  cold.  And 
this  torch,  too. 

(She  lights  a  fire  of  turf  and  heather  by  means 
of  live  embers  which  she  takes  from  a  pot, 
and  then  the  torch. 

MARA:  It  is  I,  Violaine;   Mara,  your  sister. 
VIOLAINE:    Dear  sister,  hail!    How  good  of  you  to 

come!  But  do  you  not  fear  me? 
MARA:  I  fear  nothing  in  this  world. 
VIOLAINE:  How  much  your  voice  has  become  like 

Mamans! 
MARA:  Violaine,  our  dear  mother  is  no  more. 

(Silence. 

VIOLAINE:  When  did  she  die? 
MARA:    In  that  same  month  after  your  departure. 
VIOLAINE:  Knowing  nothing? 

100 


ACT  THREE:    SCENE  THREE 

MARA:   I  do  not  know. 
VIOLAINE:    Poor  Maman! 

May  God  have  thy  soul  in  his  keeping! 
MARA  :  And  our  father  has  not  yet  come  back. 
VIOLAINE:   And  you  two? 
MARA:  It  is  well  with  us. 
VIOLAINE:     Everything   at   home   is    as    you   wish 

it? 

MARA:    Everything  is  well. 
VIOLAINE  :  I  know  it  could  not  be  otherwise 

With  Jacques  and  you. 

MARA:    You  should  see  what  we  have  done!    We 
have  three  more  ploughs. 

You  would  not  recognize  Combernon. 

And  we  are  going  to  pull  down  those  old  walls, 

Now  that  the  King  has  come  back. 
VIOLAINE:  And  are  you  happy  together,  Mara? 
MARA:    Yes.     We   are   happy.     He   loves   me 

As  I  love  him. 
VIOLAINE:   God  be  praised. 
MARA:    Violaine! 

You  do  not  see  what  I  hold  in  my  arms  ? 
VIOLAINE:   I  cannot  see. 
MARA:    Lift  your  veil,  then. 
VIOLAINE:   Under  that  I  have  another. 
MARA:    You  cannot  see  any  more? 
VIOLAINE:   I  have  no  longer  any  eyes. 

The  soul  lives  alone  in  the  ruined  body. 

101 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

MARA:    Blind! 

How  then  are  you  able  to  walk  so  straight  ? 
VIOLAINE:   I  hear. 
MARA:  What  do  you  hear? 
VIOLAINE  :  I  hear  all  things  exist  with  me. 
MARA    (significantly):     And    I,    Violaine,    do    you 

hear  me? 
VIOLAINE:   God  has  given  me  the  same  intelligence 

Which  He  has  given  to  us  all. 
MARA:   Do  you  hear  me,  Violaine? 
VIOLAINE:  Ah,  poor  Mara! 
MARA:   Do  you  hear  me,  Violaine? 
VIOLAINE:  What  would  you  have  of  me,  dear  sister? 
MARA:   To  join  you  in  praise  of  this  God  who  has 

struck  you  with  the  pestilence. 
VIOLAINE:   Then  let  us  praise  Him,  on  this  Eve  of 

His  Nativity. 

MARA  :  It  is  easy  to  be  a  saint  when  leprosy  helps  us. 
VIOLAINE  :   I  do  not  know,  not  being  one. 
MARA:  We  must  turn  to  God  when  everything  else 

is  gone. 

VIOLAINE  :  He  at  least  will  not  fail  us. 
MARA  (softly):    Perhaps,  who  knows,  Violaine,  tell 

me? 
VIOLAINE:    Life  fails,  but  not  the  death  where  I 

now  live. 

MARA:    Heretic!    are  you  sure,  then,  of  your  sal- 
vation ? 

102 


ACT  THREE:    SCENE  THREE 

VIOLAINE:  I  am  sure  of  the  goodness  of  Him  who 
has  provided  for  everything. 

MARA:  We  see  His  first  instalment. 

VIOLAINE:  I  have  faith  in  God  who  has  ordained 
my  destiny. 

MARA:  What  do  you  know  of  Him  who  is  invisible, 
who  is  never  manifest?  . 

VIOLAINE:  He  is  not  more  invisible  to  me  now  than 
all  the  rest. 

MARA  (ironically) :  He  is  with  you,  little  dove,  and 
He  loves  you! 

VIOLAINE:  As  with  all  who  are  wretched,  Himself 
with  me. 

MARA:   Surely  how  very  great  is  His  love! 

VIOLAINE:  As  the  love  of  the  fire  for  the  wood  it 
flames  above. 

MARA:   He  has  cruelly  punished  you. 

VIOLAINE:   Not  more  that  it  was  due  to  me. 

MARA:  And  already,  he  to  whom  you  had  sub- 
mitted your  body  has  forgotten  you  ? 

VIOLAINE:  I  have  not  submitted  my  body! 

MARA:  Sweet  Violaine!  lying  Violaine!  Did  I  not 
see  you  tenderly  kiss  Pierre  de  Craon  the  morn- 
ing of  that  beautiful  day  in  June? 

VIOLAINE  :   You  saw  all,  and  there  was  nothing  else. 

MARA:    Why,  then,  did  you  kiss  him  so  feelingly? 

VIOLAINE:  The  poor  man  was  a  leper,  and  I,  I  was 
so  happy  that  day! 

103 


THE  TIDINGS   BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

MARA:  In  all  innocence,  wasn't  it? 

VIOLAINE:    Like   a   little  girl   who    kisses   a   poor 

little  boy. 

MARA:   Ought  I  to  believe  that,  Violaine? 
VIOLAINE:   It  is  true. 
MARA:    Don't  say,  too,  that  it  was  of  your  own 

will  you  abandoned  Jacques  to  me? 
VIOLAINE:   No,  not  of  my  own  will.     I  loved  him! 

I  am  not  so  good  as  that. 
MARA:  Ought  he  to  have  loved  you  the  same,  though 

you  were  a  leper? 
VIOLAINE  :  I  did  not  expect  it. 
MARA:  Who  would  love  a  leper  woman? 
VIOLAINE:   My  heart  is  pure! 
MARA:    But  what  did  Jacques  know  of  that?    He 

believes  you  guilty. 
VIOLAINE:  Our  mother  had  told  me  that  you  loved 

him. 

MARA:  Don't  say  it  was  she  who  made  you  a  leper. 
VIOLAINE  :  God  in  His  goodness  warned  me. 
MARA:  So  that  when  our  mother  spoke  to  you   .    .    . 
VIOLAINE:   It  was  His  voice  that  I  heard. 
MARA:   But  why  allow  yourself  to  seem  guilty? 
VIOLAINE:    Should  I  have  done  nothing,  then,  on 

my  part? 
Poor  Jacquin!    Was   it   necessary   to   leave   him 

still  regretting  me? 

MARA:  Say  that  you  did  not  love  him  at  all. 

104 


ACT  THREE:    SCENE  THREE 

VIOLAINE  :   I  did  not  love  him,  Mara? 

MARA:    But  I  would  never  have  let  him  go  like 

that. 

VIOLAINE  :  Was  it  I  who  let  him  go  ? 
MARA:  It  would  have  killed  me. 
VIOLAINE:    And  am  I  living? 
MARA:  Now  I  am  happy  with  him. 
VIOLAINE:   Peace  be  unto  you! 
MARA:  And  I  have  given  him  a  child,  Violaine! 

a  dear  little  girl.     A  sweet  little  girl. 
VIOLAINE  :   Peace  be  unto  you ! 
MARA:     Our    happiness    is    great.     But    yours    is 

greater,  with  God. 
VIOLAINE:  And   I   too  knew  what  happiness  was 

eight  years  ago,  and  my  heart  was  ravished 

with  it. 
So  much,  that  I  madly  asked  God  —  ah!  —  that  it 

might  last  for  ever! 
And  God  heard  me  in  a  strange  manner!    Will 

my  leprosy  ever  be  cured?    No,  no,   as  long 

as  there  remains  a  particle  of  my  flesh  to  be 

devoured. 
Will  the  love  in  my  heart  be  cured?    Never,  as 

long  as  my  immortal  soul  lives  to  nourish  it. 
Does  your  husband  understand  you,  Mara? 
MARA:  What  man  understands  a  woman? 
VIOLAINE:   Happy  is  she  who  can  be  known,  heart 

and  soul,  who  can  give  herself  utterly. 

105 


THE  TIDINGS   BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

Jacques  —  what  would  he  have  done  with  all  that 

I  could  have  given  him? 

MARA:  You  have  transferred  your  faith  to  Another? 
VIOLAINE:    Love  has  ended  in  pain,  and  pain  has 

ended  in  love. 
The  wood  we  set  on  fire  gives  not  only  ashes,  but 

a  flame  as  well. 
MARA:   But  of  what  use  is  this  blind  fire  that  gives 

to  others 

Neither  light  nor  heat  ? 
VIOLAINE:    Is   it   not   something  that   it   does  me 

service  ? 

Do  not  begrudge  to  a  creature  consumed, 
Afflicted  to  the  uttermost  depths,  this  light  that 
—  jMumines  her  within! 

j   J^#\nd  if  you  could  pass  but  one  night  only  in  my  skin, 
&r/~     you  would  not  say  that  this  fire  gives  no  heat. 
Man  is  the  priest,  but  it  is  not  forbidden  to  woman 

to  be  victim. 
/    Gp4  is  miserly,  and  does  not  permit  any  creature 

to  be  set  on  fire 
/    Unless  some  impurity  be  burned  with  him, 

His  own,  or  that  which  surrounds  him,  as  when 
V— -the  living  embers  in  the  censer  are  stirred. 
And  truly  these  are  unhappy  times. 
The  people  have  no  father.     They  look  around, 
and  they  know  no  longer  where  the  King  is, 
or  the  Pope. 

1 06 


ACT  THREE:    SCENE  THREE 

That    is   why    my   body    agonizes    here    for    all 

Christendom  which  is  perishing. 
Powerful  is  suffering  when  it  is  as  voluntary  as 

sin! 

You  saw  me  kiss  that  leper^  Mara  ? 
Ah,  the  chalice  of  sorrow  is  deep, 
And  who  once  sets  his  lip  to  it  can  never  with- 
draw it  again  of  his  own  free  will._[ 
MARA:  Take  my  sorrow  upon  thee,  too! 
VIOLAINE:   I  have  already  taken  it. 
MARA:    Violaine!    if  there  is  still  something  living, 
that  was  once  my  sister,  under  that  veil  and 
in  that  ruined  body, 
Remember  that  we  were  children  together!    Have 

pity  upon  me! 
VIOLAINE:    Speak,  dear  sister.     Have  faith!    Tell 

me  all! 
MARA:  Violaine,  I  am  a  wretched  woman,  and  my 

pain  is  greater  than  yours! 
VIOLAINE:    Greater,  sister? 

(MARA,  with  a  loud  cry,  opens  her  cloak  and 

lifts  up  the  corpse  of  a  baby. 
Look!    Take  it! 
VIOLAINE  :  What  is  this  ? 

MARA:   Look,  I  tell  you!   take  it!    Take  it,  I  give 
it  to  you.  (She  lays  the  corpse  in  her  arms. 

VIOLAINE:    Ah!     I  feel  a  rigid  little  body!    a  poor 
little  cold  face! 

107 


THE  TIDINGS   BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

MARA:  Ha!  ha!  Violaine!  My  child!  my  little  girl! 
That  is  her  sweet  little  face!    that  is  her  poor 

little  body! 

VIOLAINE  (speaking  low):  Dead,  Mara? 
MARA:  Take  her,  I  give  her  to  you! 
VIOLAINE:    Peace,  Mara! 
MARA:    They  wanted  to  take  her  away  from  me. 

but  I  would  not  let  them!    and  I  ran  away 

with  her. 
But   you,   take  her,  Violaine.      Here,   take  her; 

you  see,  I  give  her  to  you. 
VIOLAINE  :  What  do  you  wish  me  to  do,  Mara  ? 
MARA:    What  do  I  wish  you  to  do?    do  you  not 

understand  ? 

I  tell  you  she  is  dead !     I  tell  you  she  is  dead ! 
VIOLAINE:    Her  soul  lives  with  God.     She  follows 

the  Lamb.     She  is  with  all  the  blessed  little 

girls. 

MARA:   But  for  me  she  is  dead! 
VIOLAINE:  You  readily  give  me  her  body!  give  the 

rest  to  God. 
MARA:    No!    no!    no!      You  shall  never  trick  me 

with    your    nunnish    rigmaroles!     No,    I    shall 

never  be  silenced. 
This  milk  that  burns  my  breast  cries  out  to  God 

like  the  blood  of  Abel! 
Have  I  got  fifty  children  to  tear  out  of  my  body? 

have  I  got  fifty  souls  to  tear  out  of  my  soul? 

108 


ACT  THREE:   SCENE  THREE 

Do  you  know  what  it  is  to  be  rent  in  two  in  order 

to    bring    into    the    world    this    little    wailing 

creature  ? 
And  the  midwife  told  me  I  should  have  no  more 

children. 
But  if  I  had  a  hundred  children  it  would  not  be 

my  little  Aubaine. 
VIOLAINE:   Accept,  submit. 
MARA:    Violaine,   you   know  well   I   have   a   hard 

head.     I  am  one  who  never  gives  up,  and  who 

accepts  nothing. 
VIOLAINE:   Poor  sister! 
MARA:    Violaine,   they   are   so   sweet,   these   little 

ones,  and  it  hurts  you  so  when  this  cruel  little 

mouth  bites  your  breast! 
VIOLAINE  (caressing  the  face):    How  cold  her  little 

face  is! 

MARA  (speaking  low) :  He  knows  nothing  yet. 
VIOLAINE   (also  speaking  low):    He  was  not  home? 
MARA:    He  has  gone  to  Rheims  to  sell  his  grain. 

She  died  suddenly,  in  two  hours. 
VIOLAINE  :  Whom  was  she  like  ? 
MARA:   Like  him,  Violaine.     She  is  not  only  mine, 

she  is  his,  too.     Only  her  eyes  are  like  mine. 
VIOLAINE:    Poor  Jacquin! 
MARA:    It  was  not  to  hear  you  say  poor  Jacquin! 

that  I  came  here. 

VIOLAINE  :  What  do  you  wish  of  me,  then  ? 

109 


THE  TIDINGS   BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

MARA:   Violaine,  do  you  want  to  know?    Tell  me, 
do  you  know  what  a  soul  is  that  damns  itself, 
Of  its  own  will,  to  all  eternity? 
Do  you  know  what  it  is  in  the  heart  that  really 

blasphemes  ? 
There  is  a  devil  who,  while  I  was  running,  sang 

me  a  little  song, 
Do  you  wish  to  hear  the  things  he  taught  me? 

VIOLAINE:  Do  not  say  these  horrible  things! 

MARA  :  Then  give  me  back  my  child  that  I  gave  you. 

VIOLAINE  :  You  gave  me  only  a  corpse. 

MARA:  And  you,  give  it  back  to  me  alive! 

VIOLAINE:  Mara,  what  do  you  dare  to  say? 

MARA:  I  will  not  have  it  that  my  child  is  dead. 

VIOLAINE:  Is  it  in  my  power  to  bring  the  dead 
to  life? 

MARA:  I  don't  know,  I  have  only  you  to  help  me. 

VIOLAINE:  Is  it  in  my  power  to  bring  the  dead 
to  life,  like  God? 

MARA:  Of  what  use  are  you,  then? 

VIOLAINE:  To  suffer  and  to  supplicate! 

MARA:  But  of  what  use  is  it  to  suffer  and  sup- 
plicate if  you  give  me  not  back  my  child  ? 

VIOLAINE:  God  knows.  It  is  enough  for  Him  that 
I  serve  Him. 

MARA:  But  I  —  I  am  deaf,  and  I  do  not  hear!  and 
I  cry  to  you  from  the  depths  where  I  am  fallen ! 
Violaine !  Violaine ! 

no 


ACT  THREE:    SCENE  THREE 

Give   me   back  that  child  I  gave  you!     See!     I 

give  in,  I  humiliate  myself!    have  pity  on  me! 

Have  pity  on  me,  Violaine,   and  give  me  back 

that  child  you  took  from  me. 
VIOLAINE  :     Only    He    who  -  took    it    can    give    it 

back! 
MARA:    Give   it   back  to  me  then!  j"Xh,    I   know 

it  is  all  your  fault. 
VIOLAINE:   My  fault! 
MARA:    Then  let  it  not  be  yours. 
It  is  mine,  forgive  me! 
But  give  her  back  to  me,  my  sister! 
VIOLAINE  :   But  you  see  it  is  dead. 
MARA:  You  lie!   it  is  not  dead!    Ah!  figure-of-tow, 
ah,   heart-of-a-sheep !    Ah,   if  I  had  access  to 
your  God  as  you  have, 
He  would  not  take  my  little  ones  away  from  me 

so  easilyjj 

VIOLAINE:   Ask  me  to  re-create  heaven  and  earth! 
MARA:    But  it  is  written  that  you  may  blow  on 

that  mountain  and  cast  it  into  the  sea. 
VIOLAINE  :   I  can,  if  I  am  a  saint. 
MARA  :  You  must  be  a  saint  when  a  wretched  being 

prays  to  you. 
VIOLAINE:   Ah,  supreme  temptation! 

I  swear,  and  I  declare,  and  I  protest  before  God 

that  I  am  not  a  saint! 
MARA:  Then  give  me  back  my  child. 

in 


THE  TIDINGS   BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

VIOLAINE:  O  my  God,  you  see  into  my  heart. 
I  swear  and  I  protest  before  God  that  I  am  not  a 

saint ! 

MARA:  Violaine,  give  me  back  my  child! 
VIOLAINE:    Why  will  you  not  leave  me  in  peace? 
Why  do  you  come  thus  to  torment  me  in  my 
tomb? 
Am  I  of  any  worth?   do  I  influence  God?   am  I 

like  God? 

It  is  God  himself  you  are  asking  me  to  judge. 
MARA:   I  ask  you  only  for  my  child.  (Pause. 

VIOLAINE  (raising  her  finger) :   Listen. 

(Silence.     A   distant,    almost    imperceptible, 

sound  of  bells. 
MARA:   I  hear  nothing. 
VIOLAINE  :  The  Christmas  bells,  the  bells  announcing 

the  midnight  Mass! 
O  Mara,  a  little  child  is  born  to  us! 
MARA:   Then  give  me  back  mine. 

(Trumpets  in  the  distance. 
VIOLAINE:    What  is  that? 

MARA:  It  is  the  King  going  to  Rheims.  Have  you 
not  heard  of  the  road  the  peasants  have  cut 
through  the  forest? 

And  they  can  keep  all  the  wood  they  cut. 
It  is  a  little  shepherdess  who  guides  the  King 

through  the  middle  of  France 
To  Rheims,  to  be  crowned  there. 

112 


ACT  THREE:    SCENE  THREE 

VIOLAINE:  Praised  be  God,  who  does  all  these 
wonderful  things! 

(Again    the    sound    of    bells,    very    distinct. 
MARA:    How  loud   the  bells   ring  for  the  Gloria! 

The  wind  blows  this  way. 
They  are  ringing  in  three  villages  all  at  once. 
VIOLAINE:     Let    us   pray,    with    all   the    universe! 

Thou  art  not  cold,  Mara? 
MARA:  I  am  cold  only  in  my  heart. 
VIOLAINE:    Let  us  pray.     It  is  long  since  we  cele- 
brated Christmas  together. 

Fear    nothing.     I    have    taken    your   grief   upon 

myself.     Look!  and  that  which  you  have  given 

me  lies  close  against  my  heart. 

Do  not  weep!    This   is  not  the  time  to  weep, 

when  the  salvation  of  all  mankind  is  already 

born.  (Bells  in  the  distance,  less  clear. 

MARA:    The  snow  has  stopped,  and  the  stars  are 

shining. 
VIOLAINE:  Look!    Do  you  see  this  Book? 

The  priest  who  visits  me  now  and  then  left  it  with 

me. 

MARA:  I  see  it. 

VIOLAINE:  Take  it,  will  you?  and  read  me  the 
Christmas  Service,  the  First  Lesson  of  each  of 
the  three  Nocturnes. 

(MARA  takes  the  Book  and  reads. 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

PROPHECY  OF  ISAIAH  l 

1  Nevertheless,  the  dimness  shall  not  be  such  as 
was  in  her  vexation,  when  at  the  first  he  lightly 
afflicted  the  land  of  Zebulun  and  the  land  of 
Naphtali,   and  afterward   did   more  grievously 
afflict  her  by  the  way  of  the  sea,  beyond  Jordan, 
in  Galilee  of  the  nations. 

2  The  people  that  walked  in  darkness  have  seen 
a  great  light:    they  that  dwell  in  the  land  of 
the  shadow  of  death,  upon  them  hath  the  light 
shined. 

|3  Thou  hast  multiplied  the  nation,  and  not 
increased  the  joy:  they  joy  before  thee  ac- 
cording to  the  joy  in  harvest,  and  as  men  re- 
joice when  they  divide  the  spoil. 

4  For  thou  hast  broken  the  yoke  of  his  burden; 
and  the  staff  of  his  shoulder,  the  rod  of  his 
oppressor,  as  in  the  day  of  Midian. 

5  For  every  battle  of  the  warrior  is  with  con- 
fused noise,  and  garments  rolled  in  blood;   but 
this  shall  be  with  burning  and  fuel  of  fire.../ 

6  For  unto  us  a  child  is  born,  unto  us  a  son  is 
given,  and  the  government  shall  be  upon  his 
shoulder;    and  his  name  shall  be  called  Won- 
derful, Counsellor,  The  mighty  God,  The  ever- 
lasting Father,  the  Prince  of  Peace. 

1  Isaiah  ix,  1-6. 

114 


ACT  THREE:    SCENE  THREE 

VIOLAINE  (raising  her  face):    Listen!  (Silence. 

VOICES  OF  ANGELS  in  heaven,  heard  only  by  Violaine: 

CHOIR  i1     HODIE  NOBIS  DE  C^ELO  PAX  VERA  DE- 

SCENDIT,     HODIE     PER     TOTUM     MUNDUM     MELLI- 
FLUI   FACTI   SUNT  C^ELI. 

A  VOICE  :2  HODIE  ILLUXIT  NOBIS  DIES  REDEMP- 
TIONIS  NOV.E,  REPARATIONIS  ANTIQUE,  FELICI- 
TATIS  ^TERN^:. 

CHOIR:  HODIE  PER  TOTUM  MUNDUM  MELLIFLUI 
FACTI  SUNT  C^ELI. 

(VIOLAINE    lifts     her    finger    in     warning. 
Silence.     MARA  listens  and  looks  uneasily. 
MARA:    I  hear  nothing. 
VIOLAINE  :  Read  on,  Mara. 
MARA  (continuing  to  read): 

SERMON  OF  SAINT  LEO,  POPE 

Our  Saviour,  dearly  beloved,  was  to-day  born: 
let  us  rejoice.  For  there  should  be  no  loop- 
hole open  to  sorrow  on  the  birthday  of  Life, 
which,  the  fear  of  Death  being  at  last  con- 
sumed^, filleth  us  with  the  joy  of  eternity  prom- 
ised. I  No  one  from  this  gladness  is  excluded, 
as  one  and  the  same  cause  for  happiness  exists 
for  us  all:  for  Our  Lord,  the  destroyer  of  sin 

1  The  voices  are  like  those  of  heroic  young  men  singing  solemnly  in  unison, 
with  retarded  movement  and  very  simple  cadence  at  the  end  of  phrases. 

2  Like  the  voice  of  a  child. 

"S 


THE  TIDINGS   BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

and  Death,  having  found  no  one  exempt  from 
sin,  came  to  deliver  every  onej  Let  the  sinless 
exult  insomuch  as  his  palm  is  at  hand ;  let  the 
sinful  rejoice  .  .  . 

(Suddenly  a  brilliant  and  prolonged  sound  of 
trumpets      very      near.     Shouts      resound 
through  the  forest. 
MARA:  The  King!    The  King  of  France! 

(Again  and  again  the  blare  of  the  trumpets, 
unutterably  piercing,  solemn,  and  tri- 
umphant. 

MARA  (in  a  low  voice):    The  King  of  France  who 
goes   to   Rheims!  (Silence. 

Violaine!  (Silence. 

Do  you  hear  me,  Violaine? 

(Silence.  She  goes  on  with  the  reading. 
.  .  .  Let  the  sinful  rejoice  insomuch  as  forgive- 
ness is  offered  to  him.  [Let  the  Gentile  be  of 
good  cheer,  because  he  is  bidden  to  share  lifej 
For  the  Son  of  God,|  according  to  the  fulness 
of  this  time  which  the  inscrutable  depth  of  the 
Divine  counsel  hath  disposed,\  took  on  Himself 
the  nature  of  mankind  so  that  He  might  recon- 
cile it  to  its  maker,  and  that  this  deviser  of 
Death,  Satan,  by  that  which  he  had  vanquished 
might  be  in  his  turn  conquered. 
VOICES  OF  ANGELS  (heard  only  by  VIOLAINE,  as 
before) : 

116 


ACT  THREE:    SCENE  THREE 
CHOIR:     O  MAGNUM  MYSTERIUM  ET  ADMIRABILE 

SACRAMENTUM  UT  ANIMALIA  VIDERINT  DOMINUM 
NATUM  JACENTEM  IN  PR^SEPIo!  BEATA  VIRGO 
CUJUS  VISCERA  MERUERUNT  PORTARE  DOMINUM 
CHRISTUM. 

A  VOICE:    AVE,  MARIA,  GRATIA  PLENA,  DOMINUS 

TECUM. 
CHOIR:  BEATA  VIRGO  cujus  VISCERA  MERUERUNT 

PORTARE  DOMINUM  CHRISTUM.  (Pause. 

MARA:  Violaine,  I  am  not  worthy  to  read  this  Book! 
Violaine,  I  know  that  my  heart  is  too  hard,  and  I 

am  sorry  for  it :  I  wish  I  could  be  different. 
VIOLAINE:     Read    on,    Mara.     You    do   not    know 
who  chants  the  responses.  (Silence. 

MARA  (with  an  effort  takes  up  the  Book,  and  reads  in 

a  trembling  voice) : 
The  Holy  Gospel  according  to  Saint  Luke.1 

(They  both  stand  up. 

I  And  it  came  to  pass  in  those  days,  that  there 
went  out  a  decree  from  Caesar  Augustus,  that 
all  the  world  should  be  taxed.  (And  the  rest.) 

(They  sit  down. 

HOMILY  OF  SAINT  GREGORY,   POPE 
(She  stops,  overcome  by  emotion.  —  The  trum- 

pets  sound  a  last  time  in  the  distance. 
\  MARA: 

Forasmuch  as,  by  the  grace  of  God,  we  are  this 

1  Luke  ii,  I. 
117 


THE  TIDINGS   BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

day  thrice  to  celebrate  the  solemnities  of  Mass, 
we  may  not  speak  at  length  on  the  gospel  that 
hath  just  been  read.  However,  the  birth  of 
our  Redeemer  bids  us  address  you  at  least  in 
a  few  words.  Wherefore,  at  the  time  of  this 
birth,  should  there  have  been  a  census  of  all 
the  people  except  clearly  to  manifest  that  He 
who  was  appearing  in  the  flesh  just  then  was 
numbering  his  Elect  for  eternity?  On  the 
contrary,  the  Prophet  saith  of  the  wicked :  they 
shall  be  deleted  from  the  Book  of  the  Living 
and  they  shall  not  be  written  down  among  the 
Righteous.  It  is  meet  also  that  He  should 
be  born  in  Bethlehem.  For  Bethlehem  means 
the  House  of  Bread,  and  Jesus  Christ  saith  of 
Himself:  I  am  the  Living  Bread  descended 
from  Heaven.  Therefore  had  the  place  in 
which  our  Lord  was  born  been  called  the  House 
of  Bread  in  order  that  He  who  was  to  feed  our 
hearts  with  internal  satiety  should  there  appear 
in  the  substance  of  flesh.  He  was  born,  not 
in  the  house  of  his  parents,  but  by  the  roadside, 
no  doubt  to  show  that  by  taking  on  humanity 
He  was  being  born  in  a  place  strange  to  Him.J 
VOICES  OF  ANGELS: 

CHOIR:  BEATA  VISCERA  MARINE  VIRGINIS  QUJE 
PORTAVERUNT  ^ETERNI  PATRIS  FILIUM;  ET  BEATA 
UBERA  QUJE  LACTAVERUNT  CHRISTUM  DOMINUM. 

118 


ACT  THREE:    SCENE  THREE 

QUI  HODIE   PRO  SALUTE  MUNDI  DE  VIRGINE  NASCI 
DIGNATUS    EST. 

A  VOICE:     DIES    SANCTIFICATUS   ILLUXIT   NOBIS; 

VENITE,  GENTES,  ET  ADORATE  DOMINUM. 
CHOIR:   QUI  HODIE  PRO  SALUTE  MUNDI  DE  VIRGINE 

NASCI  DIGNATUS  EST.  (Long  silence. 

VOICES    OF    ANGELS    (again,  almost    imperceptible): 

CHOIR:     VERBUM   CARO    FACTUM    EST    ET    HABI- 

TAVIT   IN   NOBIS:    ET   VIDIMUS  GLORIAM   EJUS, 

GLORIAM     QUASI     UNIGENITI     A     PATRE,     PLENUM 
GRATIS    ET    VERITATIS 

A  VOICE  :  OMNIA  PER  IPSUM  FACTA  SUNT  ET  SINE 
IPSO  FACTUM  EST  NIHIL. 

CHOIR:  ET  VIDIMUS  GLORIAM  EJUS,  GLORIAM  QUASI 
UNIGENITI  A  PATRE,  PLENUM  GRATIS  ET  VERI- 
TATIS. 

A  VOICE:   GLORIA  PATRI    ET  FILIO    ET    SPIRITUI 

SANCTO. 

CHOIR:  ET  VIDIMUS  GLORIAM  EJUS,  GLORIAM  QUASI 
UNIGENITI  A  PATRE,  PLENUM  GRATIS  ET  VERI- 
TATIS. (Long   silence. 
VIOLAINE  (suddenly  cries  out  in  a  stifled  voice}:   Ah! 
MARA:   What  is  it? 

(With  her  hand  she  makes  her  a  sign  to  be 
silent.  —  Silence.  —  The  first  flush  oj  dawn 
appears. 

(VIOLAINE  puts  her  hand  under  her  cloak  as 
if  to  fasten  her  dress  again. 
119 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

MARA:    Violaine,   I    see   something   moving   under 

your  cloak! 

VIOLAINE   (as  if  she  were  awakening  little  by  little) : 

Is    it    you,    Mara?    good    morning,    sister.     I 

feel  the  breath  of  the   new-born   day  on   my 

face. 

MARA:    Violaine!    Violaine!    is   it   your  arm   that 

stirs?     Again  I  see  something  moving. 
VIOLAINE:     Peace,    Mara,    it    is    Christmas    Day, 

when  all  joy  is  born! 
MARA:    What  joy  is  there  for  me  unless  my  child 

lives  ? 
VIOLAINE  :   And  for  us,  too  —  a  little  child  is  born 

to  us! 
MARA:   In  the  name  of  the  living  God,  what  say 

you? 

VIOLAINE:  "Behold,  I  bring  thee  glad  tidings  .    .    ." 
MARA:  Your  cloak  —  it  moves  again! 

(The  little  bare  foot  of  a  baby,  moving  lazily, 

appears  in  the  opening  of  the  cloak. 
VIOLAINE:     "...  Because    a    man    has    appeared 
in  the  world!" 

(MARA  falls  upon  her  knees,  with  a  deep 
sigh,  her  forehead  on  the  knees  of  her  sister. 
VIOLAINE  caresses  her. 

VIOLAINE:      Poor     sister!     she    weeps.     She,    too, 
has  had  too  much  sorrow. 

(Silence.     VIOLAINE  kisses  her  head. 

120 


ACT  THREE:    SCENE  THREE 

Take    it,    Mara!    Would    you    leave    the    child 

always  with  me? 
MARA  (she  takes  the  child  from  under  the  cloak  and 

looks  at  it  wildly):   It  lives! 

VIOLAINE  (she  walks  out  of  the  cave  a  few  steps  upon 
the  heather.  By  the  first  light  of  the  bitter  cold 
morning  can  be  seen,  first,  the  pine  and  birch 
trees  hoary  with  frost,  then,  at  the  end  of  an 
immense  snow-covered  plain,  seeming  very  small 
on  the  top  of  its  hill,  but  clearly  etched  in  the  pure 
air,  the  five-towered  silhouette  of  Monsanvierge) : 
Glory  to  God! 
MARA:  It  lives! 

VIOLAINE  :  Peace  on  earth  to  men! 
MARA:   It  lives!   it  lives! 
VIOLAINE  :  It  lives  and  we  live. 
And   the   face  of  the   Father   appeared   on   the 

earth  born  again  and  comforted. 
MARA:   My  child  lives! 

VIOLAINE    (raising    her  finger):     Listen!     (Silence. 
I  hear  the  Angelus  ringing  at  Monsanvierge. 

(She  crosses  herself  and  prays.     The  child 

awakes. 

MARA    (whispering):    It  is  I,  Aubaine;    dost  know 

me?  (The  child  moves  about  and  whines. 

What  is  it,  my  joy?    What  is  it,  my  treasure? 

(The  child  opens  its  eyes,  looks  at  its  mother 

and  begins  to  cry.     MARA  looks  closely  at  it. 

121 


THE  TIDINGS   BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

Violaine ! 

What  does  this  mean?     Its  eyes  were  black, 

And  now  they  are  blue  like  yours.  (Silence. 

Ah! 

And  what  is  this  drop  of  milk  I  see  on  its  lips? 


122 


Act  Four:  Scene  One 

Night.  The  large  kitchen^  as  in  ACT  I,  empty. 
A  lamp  is  on  the  table.  The  outer  door  is  half  open. 

MARA  enters  from  without,  and  carefully  closes  the 
door.  She  stands  still  for  a  moment  in  the  centre  of  the 
room,  looking  toward  the  door,  and  listening. 

Then  she  takes  the  lamp  and  goes  out  by  another  door 
without  making  any  sound. 

The  stage  remains  dark.  Nothing  can  be  seen  but 
the  fire  of  some  live  coals  on  the  hearth. 


123 


Act  Four:  Scene  Two 

Two  or  three  blasts  of  a  horn  are  heard  in  the  dis- 
tance. Sounds  of  calling.  Movement  in  the  farm. 
Then  the  noise  of  opening  doors,  and  the  grinding  of 
approaching  cart-wheels.  Loud  knocks  at  the  door. 
VOICE  FROM  WITHOUT  (calling):  Hallo! 

(Noise  in  the  upper  story  of  a  window  opening. 
VOICE  OF  JACQUES  HURY:  Who  is  there? 
VOICE  FROM  WITHOUT:    Open  the  door! 
VOICE  OF  JACQUES  HURY:  What  do  you  want? 
VOICE  FROM  WITHOUT:  Open  the  door! 
VOICE  OF  JACQUES  HURY:  Who  are  you? 
VOICE   FROM  WITHOUT:    Open  the  door  so  that  I 
can  tell  you!  (Pause. 

(JACQUES  HURY,  with  a  candle  in  his  hand, 
enters  the  room;  he  opens  the  door.  After 
a  slight  pause, 

Enter  PIERRE  DE  CRAON,  carrying  the  body 
of  a  woman  wrapped  up  in  his  arms.  He 
lays  his  burden  very  carefully  upon  the 
table.  Then  he  lifts  his  head.  The  two 
men  stare  at  each  other  in  the  candlelight. 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  Jacques  Hury,  do  you  not 

recognize  me? 

JACQUES  HURY:    Pierre  de  Craon? 

124 


ACT  FOUR:    SCENE  TWO 


PIERRE  DE  CRAON:   It  is  I. 

(They  continue  to  look  at  each  other. 
JACQUES  HURY:  And  what  is  this  you  bring  me? 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:    I  found  her  half-buried  in  my 

sandpit,  there  where  I  seek  what  I  need 
For  my  glass  ovens,  and  for  the  mortar  — 
Half-hidden  under  a  great  cart-load  of  sand,  under 
a  cart  standing  on  end  from  which  they  had 
taken  off  the  backboard. 

She  is  still  alive.     It  is  I  who  took  it  upon  my- 
self to  bring  her  to  you 
Here. 

JACQUES  HURY:  Why  here? 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:    That  at  least  she  might  die 

under  her  father's  roof! 

JACQUES  HURY:    There  is  no  roof  here  but  mine. 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  Jacques,  here  is  Violaine. 
JACQUES  HURY:   I  know  no  Violaine. 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:    Have  you  never  heard  of  the 

Leper  Woman  of  Chevoche? 

JACQUES  HURY:    What  does  that  matter  to  me? 
You  lepers,  it  is  for  you  to  scrape  each  other's 
sores. 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:    I  am  not  a  leper  any  more; 

I  was  cured  long  ago. 
JACQUES  HURY:   Cured? 

PIERRE   DE   CRAON:    Year  after   year  the  disease 
grew  less,  and  I  am  now  healthy. 
125 


THE  TIDINGS   BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

JACQUES  HURY:  And  this  one,  she  too  will  be  cured 

presently. 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  You  are  more  leprous  than  she 

and  I. 
JACQUES  HURY:  But  I  don't  ask  to  be  taken  out  of 

my  hole  in  the  sand. 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  And  even  if  she  had  been  guilty, 

you  ought  to  remember. 
JACQUES  HURY:    Is  it  true  that  she  kissed  you  on 

the  mouth? 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON  (looking  at  him) :  It  is  true,  poor 

child! 

JACQUES  HURY:  She  moves,  she  is  coming  to  herself. 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  I  leave  you  with  her. 

(He  goes  out. 


126 


Act  Four:  Scene  Three 

(JACQUES  HURY  sits  down  near  the  table  and 

looks  silently  at  VIOLAINE. 
VIOLAINE    (coming    to    herself   and    stretching  forth 

her  hand):  Where  am  I,  and  who  is  there? 
JACQUES  HURY:   At  Monsanvierge,  and  it  is  I  who 
am  near  you.  (Pause. 

VIOLAINE  (speaking  as  she  used  to  do) :  Good  morn- 
ing, Jacques.  (Silence. 
Jacques,  you  still  care  for  me,  then? 
JACQUES  HURY:  The  wound  is  not  healed. 
VIOLAINE:   Poor  boy! 

And  I,  too,  have  I  not  suffered  a  little  too? 
JACQUES  HURY:    What  possessed  you  to  kiss  that 

leper  on  the  mouth! 

VIOLAINE:  Jacques!   you  must  reproach  me  quickly 
with  all  you  have  in  your  heart  against  me, 
that  we  may  finish  with  all  that. 
For  we  have  other  things  still  to  say. 
And  I  want  to  hear  you  say  just  once  again  those 
words  I  loved  so  much:   Dear  Violainel    Sweet 
Violainel 

For  the  time  that  remains  to  us  is  short. 
JACQUES  HURY:  I  have  nothing  more  to  say  to  you. 

127 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

VIOLAINE:  Come  here,  cruel  man ! 

(He  approaches  her,  where  she  lies. 
Come  nearer  to  me. 

(She  takes  his  hand  and  draws  him  to  her. 

He  kneels  awkwardly  at  her  side. 
Jacques,  you  must  believe  me.     I  swear  it  before 

God,  who  is  looking  upon  us! 
I  was  never  guilty  with  Pierre  de  Craon. 
JACQUES  HURY:  Why,  then,  did  you  kiss  him? 
VIOLAINE  :   Ah,  he  was  so  sad  and  I  was  so  happy. 
JACQUES  HURY:  I  don't  believe  you. 

(She  lays  her  hand  a  moment  on  his  head. 
VIOLAINE  :  Do  you  believe  me  now  ? 

(He  hides  his  face   in  her  dress  and  sobs 

heavily. 

JACQUES  HURY:   Ah,  Violaine!    cruel  Violaine! 
VIOLAINE:  Not  cruel,  but  sweet,  sweet  Violaine! 
JACQUES  HURY:    It  is  true,  then?   yes,  it  was  only 
I  you  loved? 

(Silence.     She  gives  him  her  other  hand. 
VIOLAINE:   Jacques,  no  doubt  it  was  all  too  beau- 
tiful, and  we  should  have  been  too  happy. 
JACQUES  HURY:  You  have  cruelly  deceived  me. 
VIOLAINE:   Deceived?   this  silver  flower  on  my  side 

did  not  lie. 

JACQUES  HURY:    What  was  I  to  believe,  Violaine? 
VIOLAINE  :  If  you  had  believed  in  me, 

Who  knows  but  what  you  might  have  cured  me? 

128 


ACT  FOUR:    SCENE  THREE 


JACQUES   HURY:    Was   I   not   to   believe   my   own 

eyes? 
VIOLAINE:     That    is    true.     You    ought    to    have 

believed  your  own  eyes,  that  is  right. 
One    does    not    marry    a  ieper.     One    does    not 

marry  an  unfaithful  woman. 
Do  not   regret  anything,  Jacques.     There,   it  is 

better  as  it  is. 
JACQUES  HURY:    Did  you  know  that  Mara  loved 

me? 
VIOLAINE:     I    knew    it.     My    mother    herself   had 

told  me. 
JACQUES    HURY:    Thus   everything   was   in   league 

with  her  against  me! 
VIOLAINE:   Jacques,  there  is  already  enough  sorrow 

in  the  world. 
It  is  best  not  to  be  willingly  the  cause  of  a  great 

sorrow  to  others. 

JACQUES  HURY:  But  what  of  my  sorrow? 
VIOLAINE:    That    is    another   thing,  Jacques.     Are 

you  not  happy  to  be  with  me? 
JACQUES:   Yes,  Violaine. 

VIOLAINE:     Where    I    am,    there    is    patience,    not 
sorrow.  (Silence. 

The  world's  grief  is  great. 
It  is  too  hard  to  suffer,  and  not  to  know  why. 
But  that  which  others  do  not  know,  I  have  learned, 
and  thou  must  share  my  knowledge. 
129 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

Jacques,  have  we  not  been  separated  long  enough 
now?  should  we  let  any  barrier  remain  between 
us?  Must  it  still  be  that  death  shall  separate 
us? 

Only  that  which  is  ill   should   perish,   and  that 
which  should  not  perish  is  that  which  suffers. 
Happy  is  he  who  suffers,  and  who  knows  why. 
Now  my  task  is  finished. 
JACQUES  HURY:  And  mine  begins. 
VIOLAINE:    What!    do  you  find  the  cup  where  I 

have  drunk  so  bitter? 
JACQUES    HURY:    And   now   I   have   lost   you   for 

ever! 

VIOLAINE:  Tell  me,  why  lost? 
JACQUES  HURY:  You  are  dying. 
/VIOLAINE:   Jacques,  you  must  understand  me! 
Of  what  use  is  the  finest  perfume  in  a  sealed  vase  ? 

it  serves  for  nothing. 
JACQUES  HURY:  No,  Violaine. 
VIOLAINE:   Of  what  use  has  my  body  been  to  me, 
having  hidden   away   my   heart    so   that    you 
could  not  see  it,  but  you  saw  only  the  scar  on 
the  outside  of  the  worthless  shell. 
JACQUES  HURY:   I  was  hard  and  blind! 
VIOLAINE:     Now    I    am   broken   utterly,    and    the 

perfume  is  set  free. 

And  Behold,  you  believe  everything,  simply  be- 
cause I  laid  my  hand  on  your  head. 

130 


ACT  FOUR:    SCENE  THREE 


JACQUES  HURY:    I  believe.     I  do  not  doubt  any 

nmore. 
^IOLAINE:    And   tell  me,  where  is  the  Justice  in 

all  that,  this  justice  you  spoke  of  so  proudly? 
JACQUES  HURY:   I  am  no  longer  proud. 
VIOLAINE:    Come,   leave  Justice  alone.     It   is  not 

for  us  to  call  her  and  to  make  her  come. 
JACQUES  HURY:    Violaine,  how  you  have  suffered 

in  these  eight  long  years! 
VIOLAINE:     But    not    in   vain.     Many   things    are 

consumed  in  the  flame  of  a  heart  that  burns. 
JACQUES  HURY:   Deliverance  is  near-J 
VIOLAINE:    Blessed  be  the  hand  that  led  me  that 

night ! 

JACQUES  HURY:  What  hand? 
VIOLAINE  :  That  silent  hand  that  clasped  mine,  and 

led  me,  when  I  was  coming  back  with  my  food. 
JACQUES  HURY:   Led  you  where? 
VIOLAINE:    Where  Pierre  de  Craon  found  me. 
Under  a  great  mound  of  sand,  a  whole  cart-load 

heaped  upon  me.     Did  I  place  myself  there, 

all  alone? 
JACQUES    HURY    (rising):     Who    has    done    that? 

God's  Blood!  who  has  done  that? 
VIOLAINE:    I  don't  know.     It  matters  little.       Do 

not  curse. 
JACQUES  HURY:    I  shall  find  out  the  truth  about 

that. 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

VIOLAINE:    No,  you  shall  find  out  the  truth  about 

nothing. 

JACQUES  HURY:  Tell  me  all! 
VIOLAINE:    I  have  told  you  all.     What  would  you 

learn  of  a  blind  woman? 
JACQUES    HURY:    You    shall    not    put   me   off   the 

track. 
VIOLAINE  :   Do  not  waste  words.     I  have  only  a  little 

more  time  to  be  with  you. 
JACQUES  HURY:  I  shall  always  have  Mara. 
VIOLAINE:    She  is  your  wife,  and  she  is  my  sister, 
born  of  the  same  father  and  the  same  mother, 
and  of  the  same  flesh, 
Both  of  us,  here  beside  Monsanvierge. 

(Silence. 

(JACQUES  stands  a  moment  motionless •,  as  if 
trying   to    control   himself.     Then   he   sits 
down  again. 
JACQUES   HURY:    There   are   no   more   recluses   at 

Monsanvierge. 

VIOLAINE:  What  do  you  say? 

JACQUES  HURY:  The  last  one  died  last  Christ- 
mas. No  mouth  comes  any  more  to  the  wicket 
of  the  nourishing  church  of  this  holy  monastery, 
so  the  priest  tells  us  who  used  to  give  them 
communion. 
VIOLAINE  :  The  mountain  of  God 

Is  dead,  and  we  share  the  heritage,  Mara  and  L 

132 


ACT  FOUR:    SCENE  THREE 

^_ - . 

JACQUES  HURY:  And  Violaine  was  the  secret  offshoot 
of  the  Holy  Tree,  growing  from  some  subter- 
ranean root. 

God  would  not  have  taken  her  from  me,  if  she 
had  been  entirely  filled  by  me,  leaving  no  part 
of  her  empty, 

"God's  part,"  as  good  women  call  it. 
VIOLAINE:   What's  to  be  done?   so  much  the  worse! 
JACQUES  HURY:   Stay!  do  not  go! 
VIOLAINE  :   I  stay,  I  am  not  goingj 
Tell  me,  Jacques,  do  you  remember  that  hour  at 
noon,  and  that  great  scorching  sun,  and  that 
spot  on  the  flesh  under  my  breast  that  I  showed 
to  you? 

JACQUES  HURY:  Ah! 

VIOLAINE:  You  remember?  did  I  not  tell  you 
truly  that  you  could  never  more  tear  me  out 
of  your  soul? 

{This  of  myself  is  in  you  for  ever.  I  do  not  wish 
you  any  more  to  be  happy,  it  is  not  proper  that 
you  should  laugh, 

In  this  time  when  you  are  still  far  away  from  me. 
JACQUES  HURY:  Ah!    Ah!   Violaine! 
VIOLAINE:    Have  this  from  me,   my  well-beloved! 
The  communion  on  the  cross,  the  bitterness  like 

the  bitterness  of  myrrh, 

Of  the  sick  man  who  sees  the  shadow  upon  the 
dial,  and  of  the  soul  that  receives  its  call! 

133 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

And  for  you  age  is  already  come.     But  how  hard 

it  is  to  renounce  when  the  heart  is  young! 
JACQUES  HURY:  And  from  me  you  have  not  wanted 

to  accept  anything! 
VIOLAINE:    Think  you  that  I  know  nothing  about 

you,  Jacques? 

JACQUES  HURY:  My  mother  knew  me. 
VIOLAINE  :  To  me  also,  O  Jacques,  you  have  caused 

much  painjj 
JACQUES  HURY:    You  are  a  virgin  and  I  have  no 

part  in  you. 

VIOLAINE:  What!  must  I  tell  you  everything? 
JACQUES  HURY:  What  do  you  still  conceal? 
VIOLAINE:  It  is  necessary.     This  is  not  the  time  to 

keep  anything  back. 
JACQUES  HURY:   Speak  louder. 
VIOLAINE:     Have   they   not   told    you,   then,   that 

your  child  was  dead  ? 
Last  year,  while  you  were  at  Rheims? 
JACQUES    HURY:     Several    people    told    me.     But 

Mara  swears  that  it  only  slept. 
And  I  have  never  been  able  to  draw  from  her 

the  whole  story. 
They  say  she  went  to  find  you. 
I    should    have    known    everything    in    time.     I 

wanted  to  learn  the  whole  truth. 
VIOLAINE:    That  is  true.    You  have  the  right  to 

know  all. 

134 


ACT  FOUR:    SCENE  THREE 

JACQUES  HURY:  What  did  she  go  to  ask  of  you? 
VIOLAINE:    Have  you  never  noticed  that  the  eyes 

of  your  little  girl  are  changed? 
JACQUES   HURY:    They   are  blue  now,   like  yours. 
VIOLAINE:    It  was  Christmas  night.     Yes,  Jacques, 

it  is  true,  she  was  dead.     Her  little  body  was 

stiff  and  icy. 

I  know  it ;   all  night  I  held  her  in  my  arms. 
JACQUES  HURY:  Who  then  restored  her  to  life? 
VIOLAINE:   God  only,  and  with  God  the  faith  and 

the  despair  of  her  mother. 

JACQUES  HURY:  But  you  had  nothing  to  do  with  it? 
VIOLAINE:    O  Jacques,   to  you  only  I  will  tell  a 

great  mystery. 
It  is  true,  when  I  felt  this  dead  body  upon  my 

own,  the  child  of  your  flesh,  Jacques.  .  .  . 
JACQUES  HURY:  Ah,  my  little  Aubaine! 
VIOLAINE:  You  love  her  very  much? 
JACQUES  HURY:  Go  on. 
VIOLAINE:    .  .  .  My  heart  contracted,  and  the  iron 

entered  into  me. 
Behold  what  I  held  in  my  arms  for  my  Christmas 

night,  and  all  that  remained  of  our  race,  a  dead 

child! 

All  of  yours  that  I  should  ever  possess  in  this  life ! 
And  I  listened  to  Mara,  who  read  me  the  Service 

for  this  Holy  night:    the  babe  who  has  been 

given  to  us,  the  gospel  of  Joy. 

I3S 


THE  TIDINGS   BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

Ah,   do   not   say   that   I   know   nothing  of  you! 
Do  not  say  that  I  do  not  know  what  it  is  to  suffer 

for  you! 

Nor  that  I  do  not  know  the  effort  and  the  par- 
tition of  the  woman  who  gives  life! 
JACQUES  HURY:    You  do  not  mean  that  the  child 

was  really  brought  back  to  life  ? 
VIOLAINE:    What  I  know  is  that  it  was  dead,  and 

that  all  of  a  sudden  I  felt  its  head  move ! 
And  life  burst  from  me  in  a  flash,  at  one  bound, 

and  my  mortified  flesh  bloomed  again! 
Ah,  I  know  what  it  is,  that  little  blind  mouth 

that  seeks,  and  those  pitiless  teeth! 
JACQUES  HURY:    O  Violaine! 

(Silence.     He  makes  as  if  to  rise.     VIOLAINE 

feebly  forces  him  to  remain  seated. 
VIOLAINE  :  Do  you  forgive  me  now  ? 
JACQUES    HURY:     Oh,    the    duplicity    of    women! 

Ah,  you  are  the  daughter  of  your  mother ! 
Tell  me!    it  is  not  you  that  you  would  have  me 

forgive ! 

VIOLAINE:    Whom,  then? 

JACQUES  HURY:    What  hand  was  that  which  took 
yours  the  other  night,  and  so  kindly  led  you? 
VIOLAINE  :   I  do  not  know. 
JACQUES  HURY:   But  I  think  that  I  know. 
VIOLAINE:  You  do  not  know. 

Leave  that  to  us,  it  is  an  affair  between  women. 

136 


ACT  FOUR:    SCENE  THREE 


JACQUES  HURY:    My  affair  is  to  have  justice  done. 
VIOLAINE:  Ah,  leave  thy  Justice  alone! 
JACQUES  HURY:  I  know  what  remains  for  me  to  do. 
VIOLAINE:    You  know  nothing  at  all,  poor  fellow. 
/  You  have  no  understanding  of  women, 
And  what  poor  creatures  they  are,   stupid  and 

hard-headed  and  knowing  only  one  thing. 
Do  not  confuse  everything  between  you  and  her, 

as  with  you  and  me. 

Was  it  really  her  hand  alone?     I  do  not  know. 
And  you  do  not  know   either.    And   of  what 
good  would  it  be  to  know? 
Keep  what  you  have.     Forgive. 
And  you,  have  you  never  needed  to  be  forgiven  ? 
JACQUES  HURY:  I  am  alone. 
VIOLAINE:     Not    alone,    with    this    beautiful    little 

child  I  have  given  back  to  you, 
And  Mara,  my  sister,  your  wife,  of  the  same  flesh 
as  myself.     Who,  with  me,  knows  you  better? 
It  is  necessary  for  you  to  have  the  strength  and 
the  deed,   it   is  necessary  for  you  to  have  a 
duty  plainly  laid  down  and  final. 
That  is  why  I  have  this  sand  in  my  hair. 
JACQUES  HURY:  Happiness  is  ended  for  me. 
VIOLAINE:    It   is   ended,   what   does   that   matter? 
Happiness  was  never  promised  to  you.     Work, 
that  is  all  that  is  asked  of  you.     (And  Monsan- 
vierge  belongs  only  to  you  now.) 

137 


THE  TIDINGS   BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

Question  the  old  earth  and  she  will  always  answer 

you  with  bread  and  winej 
As  for  me  I  have  finished  with  her,  and  I  go 

beyond. 
fTell  me,  what  is  the  day  you  will  pass  far  from 

me?]  It  will  soon  pass. 
And  when  your  turn  shall  come,  and  when  you 

see  the  great  door  creak  and  move, 
I  shall  be  on  the  other  side  and  you  will  find  me 
waiting.  (Silence. 

JACQUES    HURY:     O    my    betrothed,  through    the 

blossoming  branches,  hail! 
VIOLAINE:   You  remember? 

Jacques!    Good  morning,  Jacques! 

(The  first  rays  of  dawn  appear. 
And  now  I  must  be  carried  away  from  here. 
JACQUES  HURY:  Carried  away? 
VIOLAINE  :  This  is  not  the  place  for  a  leper  to  die  in. 
Let   me   be   carried   to   that   shelter    my    father 
built  for  the  poor  at  the  door  of  Monsanvierge, 
(He  makes  as  if  to  take  her.     She  waves  him 

away  with  her  hand. 
No,  Jacques,  no,  not  you. 
JACQUES   HURY:    What,   not   even   this   last   duty 

to  you? 
VIOLAINE  :  No  it  is  not  right  that  you  should  touch 

me. 
Call  Pierre  de  Craon. 

138 


ACT  FOUR:    SCENE  THREE 


He  has  been  a  leper,  though  God  has  cured  him. 

He  has  no  horror  of  me. 

And  I  know  that  to  him  I  am  like  a  brother, 
and  woman  has  no  more  power  over  his  soul. 
(JACQUES  HURY  goes  out  and  returns  several 
minutes    later    with    PIERRE    DE    CRAON. 
She  does  not  speak.     The  two  men  look  at 
her  in  silence. 
VIOLAINE  :    Jacques ! 
JACQUES  HURY:   Violaine! 
VIOLAINE:    Has  the  year  been  good  and  the  grain 

fine  and  abundant? 
JACQUES  HURY:   So  abundant  that  we  do  not  know 

where  to  put  it  all. 
VIOLAINE:  Ah! 

How  beautiful  a  great  harvest  is! 

Yes,   even  now  I   remember  it,   and   I  think  it 

beautiful. 

JACQUES  HURY:    Yes,  Violaine. 
VIOLAINE:   How  beautiful  it  is 

To  live !    (speaking  low  and  with  deep  fervour)  and 

how  great  is  the  glory  of  God ! 
JACQUES  HURY:   Live,  then,  and  stay  with  us. 
VIOLAINE:  But  how  good  it  is  to  die  too!    When  all 
is  really  ended,  and  over  us  spreads  little  by 
little 

The  darkness,  as  of  a  deep  shade.  (Silence. 

PIERRE  DE  CRAON:    She  does  not  speak  any  more. 

139 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

JACQUES    HURY:    Take   her.     Carry   her   where   I 

have  told  you. 

For,  as  to  me,  she  does  not  wish  me  to  touch  her, 
Very    gently!    Gently,   gently,   I    tell    you.     Do 
not  hurt  her. 

(They    go    out,    PIERRE    carrying   the   body. 
The  door  stands  open.     Long  pause. 


140 


Act  Four:  Scene  Four 

On  the  threshold  of  the  door  appears  ANNE  VERCORS 
in  the  habit  of  a  traveller,  a  staff  in  his  hand  and  a 
sack  slung  on  his  back. 
ANNE  VERCORS:   Open? 

Is  the  house  empty,  that  all  the  doors  should  be 
open? 

Who  has  come  in  so  early  before  me?  or  who 
is  it  that  has  gone  out? 

(He  looks  around  a  long  time. 

I  recognize  the  old  room,  nothing  is  changed. 

Here  is  the  fireplace,  here  is  the  table. 

Here  is  the  ceiling  with  its  strong  beams. 

I  am  like  an  animal  that  smells  all  around  him, 
and  who  knows  his  resting-place  and  his  home. 

Hail,  house !    It  is  I.    Here  is  the  master  come  back. 

Hail,  Monsanvierge,  lofty  dwelling! 

From  far  away,  since  yesterday  morning  and  the 
day  before,  on  the  top  of  the  hill  I  recognized 
the  Arch  with  the  five  towers.  I 

But  why  is  it  that  the  bells  ring  no  more?  neither 
yesterday  nor  this  morning. 

Have  I  heard  in  the  sky,  with  the  Angel  nine- 
fold  sonorous,  tidings  of  Jesus  brought  three 
times,  three  times  to  the  heart  of  Mary. 
141 


THE  TIDINGS   BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

Monsanvierge !  how  often  I  .have  thought  of  thy 
walls, 

While,  under  my  captive  feet,  I  made  the  water 

rise  into  the  garden  of  the  old  man  of  Damascus. 

j(Oh,  the  morning,  and  the  implacable  afternoon ! 

Oh,   the   eternal   noria   and   the   eyes   we   lift 

.toward  Lebanon!) 

And  all  the  aromatic  odours  of  exile  are  little 
to  me 

Compared  with  this  walnut-leaf  I  crush  between 
my  fingers./ 

Hail,  Earth,  powerful  and  subdued!  Here  it 
is  not  sand  that  we  plough,  and  soft  alluvium, 

But  the  deep  earth  itself  that  we  work  with  the 
whole  strength  of  our  body  and  of  the  six  oxen 
who  pull  and  form  slowly  under  the  plough- 
share of  the  great  trench, 

And,  as  far  as  my  eyes  can  see,  everything  has 
responded  to  the  upheaval  man  has  caused. 

Already  I  have  seen  all  my  fields,  and  perceived 

that    everything    is   well    cared    for.     God    be 

praised!    Jacques  does  his  work  well. 

p-  (He  lays  his  sack  on  the  table. 

I  Earth,  I  have  been  to  seek  for  thee  a  little  earth, 

A  little  earth  for  my  burial,  that  which  God  him- 
self chose  for  his  own  at  Jerusalem.  (Pause. 

I  would  not  come  back  last  night.  I  waited  for 
daylight. 

142 


ACT  FOUR:    SCENE   FOUR 


And  I  passed  the  night  under  a  stack  of  new 
straw,  thinking,  sleeping,  praying,  looking 
around,  remembering,  giving  thanks, 

Listening  to  hear,  if  I  could,  the  voice  of  my 
wife,  or  of  my  daughter  Violaine,  or  of  a  cry- 
ing child. 

When  I  awoke  I  saw  that  the  night  was  brighter. 

And  up  there,  above  the  dark  crest  of  Monsan- 
vierge,  resplendent,  from  Arabia, 

The  morning  star  rose  over  France,  like  a  herald 
rising  in  the  solitude! 

And  then  I  came  to  the  house.  / 

Hallo!     Is  there  anybody  here? 

(He  raps  on  the  table  with  his  staff.  .  .  . 
Curtain,  which  remains  down  a  few  min- 
utes. 


Act  Four:  Scene  Five 

The  farther  end  of  the  garden.  Afternoon  of  the 
same  day.  End  of  the  summer. 

The  trees  are  heavy  with  fruit.  The  branches  of 
some  of  them,  bending  to  the  ground,  are  held  up  by 
props.  The  dried  and  tarnished  leaves,  mingled  with 
the  red  and  yellow  of  apples,  seem  like  tapestry. 

Below,  flooded  with  light,  lies  the  immense  plain  as  it 
would  be  after  the  harvest;  with  stubble,  and  already 
some  ploughed  earth.  The  white  roads  and  the  villages 
can  be  seen.  There  are  rows  of  haystacks,  looking  very 
small,  and  here  and  there  a  poplar.  Far  away,  in 
another  direction,  are  flocks  of  sheep.  The  shadows 
of  large  clouds  pass  over  the  plain. 

In  the  middle,  where  the  scene  descends  toward  the 
background,  from  which  the  tops  of  the  trees  in  a  little 
wood  are  seen  to  emerge,  there  is  a  semicircular  stone 
bench,  reached  by  three  steps,  and  with  lions9  heads  at 
each  end  of  its  back.  ANNE  VERCORS  is  sitting  there, 
with  JACQUES  HURY  at  his  right  side. 

ANNE  VERCORS:  The  golden  end  of  Autumn 
Will  soon 

Despoil  the  fruit  tree  and  the  vine. 
And  in  the  morning  the  white  sun, 

144 


ACT  FOUR:    SCENE   FIVE 


A  single  flash  of  a  fireless  diamond,  will  blend 
with  the  white  vesture  of  the  earth : 

And  the  evening  is  near  when  he  who  walks 
beneath  the  aspen 

Shall  hear  the  last  leaf  on^  its  summit. 
I  Now,  behold,  making  equal  the  days  and  nights, 

Counterpoising  the  long  hours  of  labour  with  its 
projecting  sign,  athwart  the  celestial  Door 

Interposes  the  royal  Balance. 
JACQUES  HURY:    Father,  since  thou  hast  been  gone, 

Everything,  the  painful  story,  and  the  plot  of 
these  women,  and  the  pitfall  made  to  take 
us  in, 

Thou  know'st,  and  I  have  told  thee 

Still  another  thing,  with  my  mouth  against  thine 
ear, 

Where  is  thy  wife  ?  where  is  thy  daughter  Violaine  ? 

And  lo,  thou  talkest  of  the  straw  we  twist,  and 
of  the  great  black  grape 

Which  fills  the  hand  of  the  vine-dresser,  the 
hand  he  thrusts  under  the  vine-branch! 

Already 

The  crooked  Scorpion  and  the  retreating  Sagit- 
tarius 

Have  appeared  on  the  dial  of  night.   | 
ANNE  VERCORS:   Let  the  old  man  exult  in  the  warm 
season !    O  truly  blessed  place !    O  bosom  of  the 
Fatherland!    O  grateful,  fecund  earth! 

HS 


THE  TIDINGS   BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

The  carts  passing  along  the  road 
Leave  straw  among  the  fruited  branches! 
JACQUES    HURY:     O    Violaine!    O    cruel    Violaine! 

desire  of  my  soul,  you  have  betrayed  me! 
hateful  garden !    O  love   useless  and  denied ! 

O  garden  planted  in  an  evil  hour! 
Sweet    Violaine!     perfidious    Violaine!    Oh,    the 

silence  and  the  depth  of  woman ! 
Art  thou  then  really  gone,  my  soul? 
Having  deceived  me,  she  goes  away;    and  having 

undeceived  me,  with  fatal  sweet  words, 
She   goes    again,    and    I,    bearing   this    poisoned 

arrow,  it  will  be  necessary 
That! I  live  on  and  on!  like  the  beast  we  take 

Ey   the    horn,   drawing    his    head    out   of  the 

manger, 
Like  the  horse  we  loose  from  the  single-tree  in 

the  evening  with  a  lash  of  the  whip  on  his 

back! 
O  ox,  it  is  thou  that  walkest  ahead,  but  we  two 

make  but  one  team. 
Only  that  the  furrow  be  made,  that  is  all  they 

ask  of  us. 
That  is  why  everything  that  was  not  necessary  to 

my  task,  everything  has  been  taken  away  from 

me. 
ANNE   VERCORS:    Monsanvierge   is   dead,   and   the 

fruit  of  your  labour  is  for  you  alone. 
146 


ACT  FOUR:    SCENE   FIVE 


JACQUES  HURY:   It  is  true.  (Silence. 

ANNE   VERCORS:    Have  they   looked   well   to  pro- 
visioning the  chapel  for  to-morrow? 
Is  there  enough  to  eat  and  drink  for  all  those  we 

shall  have  to  entertain  ? , 

JACQUES  HURY:  Old  man!  It  is  your  daughter 
we  are  going  to  lay  in  the  earth,  and  behold 
what  you  find  to  say! 

Surely  you  have  never  loved  her!  But  the  old 
man,  like  the  miser  who  after  warming  his 
hands  at  his  pot  of  embers  hoards  their  heat  in 
his  bosom, 

He  suffices  for  himself  alone. 
ANNE  VERCORS:   Everything  must  be  done. 

Things  must  be  done  honourably. 
.  .  .  Elisabeth,  my  wife,  hidden  heart! 

(Enter  PIERRE  DE  CRAON. 
ANNE  VERCORS:   Is  everything  ready? 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  They  are  working  at  the  coffin. 
They  are  digging  the  grave  where  you  ordered, 
Close  up  by  the  church  there,  near  that  of  the 
_  last  chaplain,  your  brother. 
Within  it  they  have  put  the  earth  you  brought 

back. 

A  great  black  ivy-vine 
Comes  out  of  the  priestly  tomb,  and,  crossing  the 

wall, 
Enters  almost  into  the  sealed  arch, 


irch.  I 


THE  TIDINGS   BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

.,£-._        -— .  .  .  To-morrow,  in  the  early  morning.     Every- 
thing is  ready. 

(JACQUES  HURY  weeps,  his  face  in  his  cloak. 
fin  the  path  is  seen  a  nun,  like  a  woman 
who  hunts  for  flowers. 

ANNE  VERCORS:   What  are  you  looking  for,  Sister? 

VOICE  OF  THE  NUN  (hollow  and  smothered):    Some 

flowers,    to    lay    on    her    heart,    between    her 

hands. 

ANNE  VERCORS:   There  are  no  more  flowers,  there 

is  nothing  but  fruit. 
JACQUES   HURY:    Push  aside  the  leaves   and   you 

will  find  the  last  violet! 

And  the  Immortelle  is  still  in  the  bud,  and  noth- 
ing is  left  to  us  but  the  dahlia  and  the  poppy. 

(The  nun  is  no  longer  there 

PIERRE  DE  CRAON:   The  two  Sisters,  who  care  for 
the  sick,  one  quite  young  the  other  very  old, 
Have  dressed  her,  and  Mara  has  sent  her  wedding- 
dress  for  her. 

Truly,  she  was  only  a  leper,  but  she  was  honour- 
K^  able  in  the  sight  of  God. 
/  She  reposes  in  a  deep  sleep 
As  one  who  knows  in  whose  care  she  is. 
I  saw  her  before  they  had  laid  her  in  the  coffin. 
Her  body  is  still  supple. 

Oh,  while  the  Sister  finished  dressing  her,  with 
her  arm  around  her  waist, 
148 


ACT  FOUR:    SCENE  FIVE 


Holding  her  in  a  sitting  posture,  how  her  head 

fell  backward 
Like  that  of  the  still  warm  partridge  the  hunter 

picks  in  his  hand! 

ANNE  VERCORS:  My  cEild!  my  little  daughter  I  car- 
ried in  my  arms  before  she  knew  how  to  walk! 
\The   fat   little   girl   who   awoke   with   bursts   of 

laughter  in  her  little  sabot  of  a  bedj 
All  that  is  over.    Ah!   ah!    O  God!    Alas! 
PIERRE   DE   CRAON:    Don't   you  want  to  see  her 

before  they  nail  down  the  coffin-lid  ? 
ANNE  VERCORS:  No.    The  child  disowned 

Goes  away  secretly. 

JACQUES  HURY:    Never  again  in  this  life  shall  I 
see  her  face. 

(PIERRE  DE  CRAON  sits  down  at  the  left  of 
ANNE  VERCORS.  Long  pause.  The  sound 
of  a  hammer  on  planks.  They  remain 
silent,  listening. 

MARA  is  seen  to  pass  at  the  side  of  the  stage 
holding  a  child  in  her  arms  wrapped  in  a 
black  shawl.  Then  she  re-enters  slowly  at 
the  back,  and  comes  and  stands  in  front  of 
the  bench  where  the  three  men  are  sitting. 
They  stare  at  her,  except  JACQUES  HURY, 
who  looks  at  the  ground. 

MARA    (her   head  lowered):    Hail,   father!     Hail   to 
you  all. 

149 


THE  TIDINGS   BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

You  stare  at  me  and  I  know  what  you  think: 

"Violaine  is  dead. 

The  beautiful  ripe  fruit,   the  good  golden  fruit 
Has  fallen  from  the  branch,  and,  bitter  without, 

hard  as  a  stone  within, 
Only  the  wintry  nut  remains  to  us."    Who  loves 

me?    Who  has  ever  loved  me? 

(She  lifts   her  head  with  a  savage  gesture. 
Well!   here  I  am!   what  have  you  to  say  to  me? 

Say  everything!    What  have  you  against  me? 
What   makes   you    look    at    me   like   that,  with 

your  eyes  saying:    It  is  thou!    It  is  true,  it 

is  I! 

It  is  true,  it  was  I  who  killed  her, 
It  was  I  the  other  night  who  took  her  by  the 

hand,  having  gone  to  seek  her, 
While  Jacques  was  not  there, 
And  I  who  made  her  fall  into  the  sandpit,  and 

who  turned  over  upon  her 
That  loaded  cart.     Everything  was  ready,  there 

was  only  a  bolt  to  pull  out, 
I  did  that, 

Jacques!  and  it  is  I,  too,  who  said  to  my  mother, 
Violaine  —  to  talk  to  her  that  day  when  you  came 

back  from  Braine. 
For  I  longed  ardently  to  marry  you,  and   if  I 

could  not  I  had  decided  to  hang  myself  the 

day  of  your  wedding. 
ISO 


ACT  FOUR:    SCENE  FIVE 


Now  God,  who  sees  into  hearts,  had  already  let  her 

take  the  leprosy. 

—  But  Jacques  never  stopped   thinking  of  her. 
^That  is  why  I  killed  her. 
/What  then?    What  else  was  there  to  do?    What 

more  could  be  done 
So  that  the  one  I  love  and  who  is  mine 
Should  be  mine  entirely,  as  I  am  his  entirely, 
And  that  Violaine  should  be  shut  out  ? 
I  did  what  I  could. 
And  you  in  your  turn,  answer!    Your  Violaine 

that  you  loved, 
How  then  did  you  love  her,  and  which  was  worth 

the  most, 

Your  love,  do  you  think,  or  my  hatred? 
You  all  loved  her!    and  here  is  her  father  who 

abandons   her,    and   her   mother   who    advises 

her! 

And  her  betrothed,  how  he  has  believed  in  her! 
Certainly  you  loved  her, 
As  we  say  we  love  a  gentle  animal,  a  pretty  flower, 

and  that  was  all  the  feeling  there  was  in  your 

love! 

Mine  was  of  another  kind ; 
Blind,  never  letting  go  anything  once  taken,  like 

a  deaf  thing  that  does  not  hear! 
For  him  to  have  me  entirely,  it  was  necessary  to 

me  to  have  him  entirely! 


THE   TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

What  have  I  done  after  all  that  I  must  defend 
myself?  who  has  been  the  most  faithful  to  him, 
I  or  Violaine? 

Violaine  who  betrayed  him  for  I  know  not  what 
leper,  giving  in,  said  she,  to  God's  council  in  a 
kiss  ? 

I  honour  God.  Let  him  stay  where  he  is!  Our 
miserable  life  is  so  short!  Let  him  leave  us 
in  peacejji 

Is  it  my  fault  if  I  loved  Jacques?  was  it  for 
my  happiness,  or  for  the  burning  away  of  my 
soul? 

What  could  I  do  to  defend  myself,  I  who  am  not 
beautiful,  nor  agreeable,  a  poor  woman  who 
can  only  give  pain? 

That  is  why  I  killed  her  in  my  despair! 

O  poor,  unskilful  crime! 

O  disgrace  to  her  that  no  one  loves  and  with  whom 
nothing  succeeds!  What  ought  to  have  been 
done,  since  I  loved  him  and  he  did  not  love 
me?  (She  turns  toward  JACQUES. 

And  you,  O  Jacques,  why  do  you  not  speak? 

Why  turn  you  your  face  to  the  ground,  without 
a  word  to  say, 

Like  Violaine,  the  day  when  you  accused  her  un- 
justly? 

Do  you  not  know  me?    I  am  your  wife. 
\  Truly  I  know  that  I  do  not  seem  to  you  either 

152 


ACT  FOUR:  SCENE   FIVE 


beautiful  or  agreeable,  but  look,  I  have  dressed 

myself  for  you,  I  have  added  to  that  pain  that 

I  can  give  you.     And  I  am  the  sister  of  Vio- 

lainej 
It   is  born    of  pain!    This,  love  is  not  born  of 

joy,  it  is  born  of  pain!    the  pain  which  suffices 
_  for  those  who  have  no  joy! 
J  No  one  is  glad  to  see  it,  ah,  it  is  not  the  flower 

in  its  season, 
But  that  which  is  under  the  flowers  that  wither, 

the  earth  itself,   the  miserly  earth  under  the 

grass,  the  earth  that  never  fails!) 
Know  me  then! 
I  am  your  wife  and  you  can  do  nothing  to  change 

that! 
One  inseparable  flesh,  the  contact  by  the  centre 

and    by   the   soul,    and    for   confirmation   this 

mysterious  parentage  between  us  two. 
Which  is,  that  I  have  had  a  child  of  yours. 
I  have  committed  a  great  crime,  I  have  killed  my 

sister;  but  I  have  not  sinned  against  you.     And 

I  tell  you  that  you  have  nothing  to  reproach 

me  with.     And  what  do  the  others  matter  to 

me? 
That  is  what  I  had  to  say,  and  now  do  what  you 

will.  (Silence. 

ANNE    VERCORS:     What    she    says    is    true.     Go, 

Jacques,  forgive  her! 

IS3 


THE  TIDINGS   BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

JACQUES  HURY:   Come  then,  Mara. 

(She  comes  nearer  and  stands  before  them, 

forming  with  her  child  a  single  object  upon 

which  the   two   men   extend  together  their 

right     hands.      Their     arms     cross,     and 

JACQUES'  hand  is  laid  on  the  head  of  the 

child,  that  of  ANNE  on  the  head  of  MARA. 

JACQUES  HURY:    It  is  Violaine  who  forgives  you. 

It   is  through  her,   Mara,  that   I   forgive  you. 

Guilty  woman,  it  is  she  who  reunites  us. 

MARA:    Alas!     alas!    dead   words   and   without   a 

ray  of  light! 

O  Jacques,  I  am  no  longer  the  same!  There  is 
something  in  me  that  is  ended.  Have  no  fear. 
All  that  is  nothing  to  me. 

Something  in  me  is  broken,  and  I  am  left  without 
strength,  like  a  woman  widowed  and  without 
children. 

(The  child  laughs    vaguely    and   looks    all 
around,  with  little  cries  of  delight. 
ANNE  VERCORS  (caressing  if):    Poor  Violaine!    And 

you,  little  child!     How  blue  its  eyes  are! 
MARA    (melting   into   tears) :     Father !     father !     ah ! 
It  was  dead,  and  it  was  she  who  brought  it  back 
to  life! 

(She  goes   away,  and  sits  down  alone. 
The  sun  goes  down.     It  rains  here  and  there 
on  the  plain,  and  the  lines  of  the  rain  can 

IS4 


ACT  FOUR:    SCENE   FIVE 


be  seen  crossing  the  rays  of  the  sun.     An 
immense  rainbow  unfurls. 

\VoiCE  OF  A  CHILD:   Hi!   Hi!   look  at  the  beautiful 
rainbow ! 

(Other  voices  cease  An  the  distance.     Great 
flocks  of  pigeons  fly  about,  turning,  scatter- 
ing, and  alighting  here  and  there  in  the 
stubble.^ 
ANNE    VERCORS^    The    earth    is    set    free.      The 

place  is  empty. 
The   harvest   is   all  gathered,   and   the  birds   of 

heaven 

Pick  up  the  lost  grain. 

PIERRE   DE   CRAON:    Summer  is  over,   the  season 
sleeps  in  a  time  of  quiet,  everywhere  the  foliage 
_  rustles  in  the  breeze  of  September. 
/The  sky  has  turned  blue  again,  and  while  the 

partridges  call  from  their  covert,    . 
The  buzzard  soars  in  the  liquid  airj 
JACQUES  HURY:  Everything  is  yours.    Father!  take 

back  again  all  this  property  you  vested  in  me. 
ANNE  VERCORS:    No,  Jacques,  I  no  longer  possess 
anything,  and  this  is  no  more  mine.     He  who 
went  away  will  not  return,  and  that  which  is 
once  given  cannot  be 
Taken  back.     Here  is  a  new  Combernon,  a  new 

Monsanvierge. 
i  PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  The  other  is  dead.    The  virgin 

IS5 


THE  TIDINGS   BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

mountain  is  dead,  and  the  scar  in  her  side  will 

never  open  again. 
ANNE    VERCORS:     It    is    dead.     My    wife,    too,   is 

dead,   my   daughter    is    dead,    the   holy   Maid 
Has  been  burned  and  thrown  to  the  winds,  not 

one  of  her  bones  remains  on  the  earth. 
But  the  King  and  the  Pope  have  been  given  back 

again  to  France  and  to  the  whole  world. 
The  schism  comes  to  an  end,  and  once  more  the 

Throne  rises  above  all  men. 
1  returned  by  Rome,  I  kissed  the  foot  of  Saint 

Peter,  I  ate  the  consecrated  bread  standing  with 

people  from  the  Four  Divisions  of  the  Earth, 
While  the  bells  of  the  Quirinal  and  of  the  Lateran, 

and  the  voice  of  Santa  Maria  Maggiore, 
Saluted   the   ambassadors   of  these   new   nations 

who  come  from  the  Orient  and  the  Occident 

all  together  into  the  City, 
Asia  found  again,  and  this  Atlantic  world  beyond 

the  Pillars  of  Hercules! 
And  this  very  evening  when  the  Angelus  shall 

ring,  at  the  same  hour  when  the  star  Al-Zohar 

glows  in  the  unfurled  heaven, 
Begins  the  year  of  Jubilee  which  the  new  Pope 

grants, 
The  annulment  of  debts,  the  liberation  of  prisoners, 

the  suspension  of  war,  the  closing  of  the  courts, 

the  restitution  of  all  property. 


ACT  FOUR:    SCENE   FIVE 


PIERRE  DE  CRAON:    Truce  for  one  year  and  peace 

for  one  day  only. 
ANNE  VERCORS:    What  does  it  matter?    peace  is 

good,  but  war  will  find  us  armed. 
O  Pierre!    this  is  a  time  when  women  and  new- 
born infants  teach  sages  and  old  men! 
Here  am  I  shocked  like  a  Jew  because  the  face 

of  the  Church  is  darkened,   and  because  she 

totters  on  her  road  forsaken  by  all  men. 
And   I   wanted   once  more  to   clasp   the    empty 

tomb,  to  put  my  hand  in  the  hole  left  by  the 
cross. 

But  my  little  daughter  Violaine  has  been  wiser. 
Is  the  object  of  life  only  to  live?  will  the  feet  of 

God's   children   be   fastened   to   this   wretched 

earth? 
It  is  not  to  live,  but  to  die,  and  not  to  hew  the 

cross,  but  to  mount  upon  it,  and  to  give  all  that 

we  have,  laughing! 
There  is  joy,   there  is   freedom,   there  is  grace, 

there  is  eternal  youth!    and  as  God  lives,  the 

blood  of  the  old  man  on  the  sacrificial  cloth, 

near  that  of  the  young  man,  j 

Makes  a  stain  as  red  and  fresh  as  that  of  the 

yearling  lamb! 
O  Violaine!    child  of  grace!    flesh  of  my  flesh! 

As  far  as  the  smoky  fire  of  my  farm  is  distant 

from  the  morning  star, 

157 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

When  on  the  sun's  breast  that  beautiful  virgin 

lays  her  illumined  head, 

May  thy  father  see  thee  on  high  through  all  eter- 
nity in  the  place  which  has  been  kept  for  thee ! 
As   God   lives,   where,,  the   little   child   goes   the 

father  should  go  also! 
What  is  the  worth  of  the  world  compared  to  life  ? 

and  what  is  the  worth  of  life  if  not  to  be  given  ? 
And  why  torment  ourselves  when  it  is  so  simple 

to  obey? 
It  is  thus  that  Violaine  follows  at  once  without 

hesitation  the  hand  that  takes  hers. 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:   O  father!    I  was  the  last  who 

held   her  in  my  arms,  because  she  entrusted 

herself  to  Pierre  de  Craon,  knowing  that  there 

is  no  longer  in  his  heart  the  desire  of  the  flesh. 
And  the  young  body  of  this  divine  brother  Jay 

in  my  arms  like  a  tree  that  has  been  cut  down 

and  droops 
Already,  as  the  glowing  colour  of  the  pomegranate 

blossoms  everywhere  flames  from  the  bud  that 

can  no  longer  sheathe  it, 
So  the  splendour  of  the  angel  that  knows  not 

death  embraces  our  little  sister. 
The  odour  of  Paradise  exhaled  in  my  arms  from 

this  broken  tabernacle. 
Do  not  weep,   Jacques,  my  friend. 
ANNE  VERCORS:  Do  not  weep,  my  son. 


ACT   FOUR:    SCENE  FIVE 


JACQUES  HURY:   Pierre,  give  me  back  that  ring  she 

gave  thee. 

PIERRE  DE  CRAON:   I  cannot! 
Any  more  than  the  ripened   spike  of  corn  can 

give  back  the  seed  in  'the  earth  from  which 

sprang  its  stem. 

Of  that  bit  of  gold  I  have  made  a  fiery  gem. 
And  the  vessel  of  everlasting  Day  where  the  seed 

of    the   ultimate  goodness   of  saintly  souls   is 

treasured. 
Justitia   is   finished   and   lacks   only  the  woman 

that  I  shall  set  there  at  the  blossoming  of  my 

supreme  lily. 
ANNE  VERCORS:  You  are  powerful  in  works,  Pierre, 

and  I  have  seen  on  my  way  the  churches  you 

have  brought  to  birth. 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:    Blessed  be  God  who  has  made 

me  a  father  of  churches, 

And  who  has  endowed  my  soul  with  understand- 
ing and  the  sense  of  the  three  dimensions! 
And  who  has  debarred  me  as  a  leper  and  freed 

me  from  all  temporal  care, 
To  the  end  that  I  should  raise  up  from  the  soil 

of  France  Ten  Wise  Virgins  whose  oil  is  never 

exhausted,  and  who  compose  a  vessel  of  prayers! 
What  is  this  soul,  or  bolt  of  wood,  that  the  lute- 
maker  inserts  between  the  front  and  the  back 

of  his  instrument, 

IS9 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

Compared  to  this  great  enclosed  lyre,  and  of 
these  columnar  Powers  in  the  night,  whose 
number  and  distance  I  have  calculated? 

Never  from  the  outside  do  I  carve  an  image. 

But,  like  father  Noah,  from  the  middle  of  my 
enormous  Arch, 

I  work  from  within,  and  see  everything  rise 
simultaneously  around  me! 

And  what  is  matter  which  the  hand  can  chisel 
compared  to  the  spirit  we  strive  to  enshrine, 

Or  to  the  hallowed  space  left  empty  by  a  rever- 
ent soul  shrinking  back  in  the  presence  of  its 
God? 

Nothing  is  too  deep  for  me:    my  wells  descend 

»     as  far  as  the  waters  of  the  Mother-spring. 

Nothing  is  too  high  for  the  spire  that  mounts  to 
heaven  and  steals  God's  lightning  from  him! 

Pierre  de  Craon  will  die,  but  the  Ten  Virgins, 
his  daughters, 

Will  remain  like  the  Widow's  cruse 

In  which  the  flower  and  the  sacred  measures  of 

the  oil  and  wine  are  renewed  for  ever. 
ANNE  VERCORS:   Yes,  Pierre.     Whoever  trusts  him- 
self to  stone  will  not  be  deceived. 
PIERRE   DE   CRAON:    Oh,   how  beautiful   is   stone, 
and  how  soft  it  is  in  the  hands  of  the  architect ! 
and  how  right  and  beautiful  a  thing  is  his  whole 
completed  work! 

160 


ACT  FOUR:    SCENE  FIVE 


How  faithful  is  stone,  and  how  well  it  preserves 

the  idea,  and  what  shadows  it  makes! 
And  if  a  vine  grows  well  on  the  least  bit  of  wall, 

and  the  rosebush  above  it  blooms, 
How  beautiful  it  is,  and  how  true  it  is  altogether! 
Have  you  seen  my  little  church  of  TEpine,  which 

is  like  a  glowing  brasier  and  a  rosebush  in  full 

bloom  ? 
And  Saint  Jean  de  Vertus  like  a  handsome  young 

man  in  the  midst  of  the  Craie  Champenoise? 

And  Mont-Saint  Martin  which  will  be  mellow 

in  fifty  years? 
And  Saint-Thomas  of  Fond-d'Ardenne  that  you 

can  hear  in  the  evening  bellowing  like  a  bull 

in  the  midst  of  its  marshes  ? 
But  Justitia  that  I  have  made  last,  Justitia  my 

daughter  is  more  beautiful! 
ANNE   VERCORS:    I   shall  go  there  and  leave  my 

staff  for  a  thank-offering. 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:    She  is  dedicated  in  my  heart, 

nothing  is  lacking,  she  is  whole. 
And  for  the  roof, 
I  have  found  the  stone  I  sought,  not  quarried  by 

iron, 
Softer  than  alabaster  and  closer-grained  than  a 

grindstone. 
As  the  fragile  teeth  of  the  little  Justitia  serve  as 

a  foundation  for  my  great  structure, 
161 


THE  TIDINGS   BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

So  also  at  the  summit,  in  the  wide  sky,  I  shall 
set  this  other  Justice 

Violaine  the  leper  in  glory,  Violaine  the  blind  in 
the  sight  of  everybody. 

And  I  shall  make  her  with  her  hands  crossed  on 
her  breast,  like  the  spike  of  grain  still  half- 
prisoned  in  its  tegmen, 

And  her  eyes  blindfolded. 
ANNE  VERCORS:   Why  blindfolded? 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:   That,  seeing  not,  she  may  the 
better  hear 

The  sounds  of  the  city  and  the  fields,  and  man's 
voice  at  the  same  time  with  the  voice  of  God. 

For  she  is  Justice  herself,  who  listens  and  con- 
ceives in  her  heart  the  perfect  harmony. 

This  is  she  who  is  a  refuge  from  storms,  and  a 
shade  from  the  heat  at  the  rising  of  the  dog- 
star. 

JACQUES  HURY:  But  Violaine  is  not  a  stone  for  me, 
and  stone  does  not  suffice  me! 

And  I  do  not  wish  the  light  of  her  beautiful  eyes 

to  be  veiled! 

ANNE  VERCORS  :  The  light  of  her  soul  is  with  us. 
I  have  not  lost  thee,  Violaine!  How  beautiful 
thou  art,  my  child! 

And  how  beautiful  is  the  bride  when  on  her  wed- 
ding-day she  shows  herself  to  her  father  in  her 
splendid  wedding-gown,  sweetly  embarrassed. 
162 


ACT  FOUR:    SCENE   FIVE 


Walk  before  me,  Violaine,  my  child,  and  I  will 
follow  thee.  But  sometimes  turn  thy  face 
toward  me,  that  I  may  see  thine  eyes! 

Violaine!  Elisabeth!  soon  again  I  shall  be  with 
you. 

As  for  you,  Jacques,  perform  your  task  in  your 
turn,  as  I  have  done  mine!  The  end  is  near. 

It  is  here,  the  end  of  all  that  is  given  me  of  the 
day,  of  the  year,  and  of  my  own  life! 

It  is  six  o'clock.  The  shadow  of  the  Gres-qui- 
va-boire  reaches  the  brook. 

Winter  comes,  night  comes;  yet  a  little  more  night, 

A  short  watch! 

All  my  life  I  have  worked  with  the  Sun  and  aided 
him  in  his  task. 

But  now,  by  the  fireside,  in  the  light  of  the  lamp, 

All  alone  I  must  begin  the  night. 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:    O  husbandman,  your  work  is 
finished.     See   the   empty   land,    see   the   har- 
vested earth,  and  already  the  plough  attacks 
the  stubble! 

And  now,  what  you  have  begun  it  is  my  part  to 
complete. 

As  you  have  opened  the  furrow,  I  dig  the  pit 
wherein  to  preserve  the  grain,  I  prepare  the 
tabernacle. 

And  as  it  is  not  you  who  cause  the  harvest  to 
ripen,  but  the  sun,  so  is  it  also  with  grace. 


THE  TIDINGS   BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

And  nothing,  unless  it  issue  from  the  seed,  can 

develop  into  the  ear. 
And    certainly,    Justice    is    beautiful.     But    how 

much  more  beautiful 
Is  this  fruitful  tree  of  mankind,  which  the  seed 

of  the  Eucharist  engenders  and  makes  grow. 
This  too  makes  one  complete  whole,  unified. 
Ah,  if  all  men  understood  architecture  as  I  do, 
Who  would  willingly  fail  to  follow  his  vocation 

and  renounce  the  sacred  place  assigned  to  him 

in  the  Temple? 
ANNE  VERCORS:    Pierre  de  Craon,  you  have  many 

thoughts,  but  for  me  this  setting  sun  suffices. 
All  my  life  I  have  done  the  same  thing  that  he 

does,  cultivating  the  earth,  rising  and  returning 

home  with  him. 
And  now  I  go  into  the  night,  and  I  am  not  afraid, 

and  I  know  that  there  too  all  is  clear  and  in 

order,    in   the   season   of  this   great    heavenly 

winter  which  sets  all  things  in  motion. 
The  night  sky  where  everything  is  at  work,  and 

which  is  like  a  great  ploughing,  and  a  room 

with  only  one  person  in  it. 
And  there  the  eternal  Ploughman  drives  the  seven 

oxen,  with  his  gaze  set  upon  a  fixed  star, 
As  ours  is  set  upon  the  green  branch  that  marks 

the  end  of  the  forrow. 
The  sun  and  I,  side  by  side 

164 


ACT  FOUR:    SCENE  FIVE 


Have  worked,  and  the  product  of  our  work  does 

not  concern  us.     Mine  is  done. 
I  bow  to  what  must  be,  and  now  I  am  willing 

to  be  dissolved. 
And  herein  lies  peace  for  him  who  knows  it,  and 

joy  and  grief  in  equal  parts. 

My  wife  is  dead.     Violaine  is  dead.     That  is  right. 
Ldo  not  desire  to  hold  any  more  that  weak  and 

wrinkled  old  hand.     And  as  for  Violaine,  when 

she  was  eight  years  old,  when  she  came  and 

threw  herself  against  my  legs, 
How  I  loved  that  strong  little  body!    And  little 

by  little  the  impetuous,   frolicsome  roughness 

of  the  laughing  child 
Melted  into  the  tenderness  of  the  maiden,  into 

the  pain  and  heaviness  of  love,   and  when  I 

went  away 
I  saw  already  in  her  eyes  one  unknown  blossom 

among  the  flowers  of  her  springtime. 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  The  call  of  death,  like  a  solemn 

lily.     . 
ANNE  VERCORS:    Blessed  be  death  in  which  all  the 

petitions  in  the  Paternoster  are  satisfied. 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:    For  my  part,  it  was  by  herself 

and  from  her  innocent  lips 

That  I  received  freedom  and  dismissal  from  this  life.  J 
(The  sun  is  in  the  western  sky,  as  high  as  a 
tall  tree. 

165 


THE  TIDINGS  BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

ANNE  VERCORS:   Behold  the  sun  in  the  sky, 

As  he  is  in  the  pictures  where  the  Master  awakes 
the  workman  at  the  Eleventh  Hour. 

(The  door  of  the  barn  is  heard  to  creak. 
JACQUES  HURY:    What  is  that? 
ANNE  VERCORS:   They  have  come  to  the  barn  for 

straw 
To  lavin  the  bottom  of  the  grave. 

)  (Silence:  —  Sound  in  the  distance  of  a  washer- 
woman beating  linen. 
VOICE  OF  A  CHILD  (without): 

Marguerite  of  Paris,  pray! 

Lend  to  me  thy  shoes  of  gray! 

To  walk  in  Paradise  a  way! 

How  fair  it  is! 

How  warm  it  is! 

I  hear  the  little  bird  say  it  is! 

He  goes  pa  —  a  —  a  —  aj / 

JACQUES  HURY:   That  is  not  the  door  of  the  barn, 

it  is  the  sound  of  the  tomb  opening! 
And,  having  looked  at  me  with  her  blind  eyes, 

she  that  I  loved  passes  to  the  other  side. 
And  I  too,  I  have  looked  at  her  like  one  who  is 

blind,  and  I  did  not  doubt  without  proofs. 
I  never  doubted  her  who  accused  her. 
I  have  made  my  choice,  and  she  that  I  chose  has 
been  given  to  me.    What  shall  I  say?    It  is 
right. 

166 


ACT  FOUR:    SCENE   FIVE 


nit  is  right, 
happiness  is  not  for  me,  but  desire!   it  will  never 

be  torn  from  me. 

And  not  Violaine,  radiant  and  unblemished, 
But   the   leper   bending   over   me  with   a   bitter 
smile  and  the  devouring  wound  in  her  side! 

(Silence. 

(The  sun  is  behind  the  trees.  It  shines 
through  the  branches.  The  shadows  of 
the  leaves  cover  the  ground  and  the  seated 
people.  Here  and  there  a  golden  bee  shines 
in  the  sunny  interstices. 

ANNE  VERCORS:  Here  am  I  seated,  and  from  the 
top  of  the  mountain  I  see  all  the  country  at 
my  feet. 

And  I  recognize  the  roads,  and  I  count  the  farms 
and  villages,  and  I  know  them  by  name,  and 
all  the  people  who  live  in  them. 
The  plain  is  lost  to  view  toward  the  north. 
And   elsewhere,   rising  again,   the  hill   surrounds 

this  village  like  a  theatre. 
And  everywhere,  all  the  while, 
Green  and  pink  in  the  spring,  blue  and  flaxen  in 
the    summer,    brown    in    winter    or    all    white 
with  snow, 

Before  me,  at  my  side,  around  me, 
I  see  always  the  Earth,  like  an  unchanging  sky 
all  painted  with  changing  colours. 


THE  TIDINGS   BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

Having  a  form  as  much  its  own  as  a  person's,  it 
is  always  there  present  with  me. 

Now  that  is  finished. 

How  many  times  have  I  risen  from  my  bed  and 
gone  to  my  work! 

And  now  here  is  evening,  and  the  sun  brings 
home  the  men  and  the  animals  as  if  he  led 
them  by  his  hand^J 

(He  raises  himself  slowly  and  painfully,  and 
slowly  stretches  out  his  arms  to  their  full 
length,  while  the  sun,  grown  yellow,  covers 
him. 

Ah!   ah! 

Here  am  I  stretching  out  my  arms  in  the  rays 
of  the  sun. 

Evening  is  come!  Have  pity  upon  every  man, 
Lord,  in  that  hour  when  he  has  finished  his 
task  and  stands  before  Thee  like  a  child  whose 
hands  are  being  examined. 

Mine  are  free.  My  day  is  finished.  I  have 
planted  the  grain  and  I  have  harvested  it,  and 
with  this  bread  that  I  have  made  all  my  chil- 
dren have  made  their  communion. 

Now  I  have  finished. 

A  moment  ago  there  was  some  one  with  me. 

And  now,  wife  and  child  having  gone  away, 

I  remain  alone  to  say  grace  at  the  empty  table. 

Both  of  them  are  dead,  but  I, 

168 


ACT  FOUR:    SCENE   FIVE 


I  live,  on  the  threshold  of  death,  and  I  am  filled 
with  inexplicable  joy! 

(The  Angelus  is  rung  from  the  church  down 

below.     First  toll  of  three  strokes. 
JACQUES  HURY  (hollowly} :   The  Angel  of  God  pro- 
claims peace  to  us,  and  the  child  thrills  in  the 
bosom  of  its  mother.  (Second  toll. 

PIERRE  DE  CRAON:    "Men  of  little  faith,  why  do 
you  weep?"  (Third  toll. 

ANNE  VERCORS:    "Because  I  go  to  my  father  and 

to  your  father." 

P^-*  (Profound  silence.     Then  peal. 

PIERRE   DE   CRAON:    Thus  the  Angelus   speaks  as 

if  with  three  voices,  in  May 
When  the  unmarried  man  comes  home,  having 

buried  his  mother, 
"Voice-of-the-Rose"  speaks  in  the  silvery  evening. 

0  Violaine!    O   woman    through    whom    comes 
temptation! 

For,  not  yet  knowing  what  I  would  do,  I  turned 
my  eyes  where  you  then  did  turn  thine. 

Truly  I  have  always  thought  that  joy  was  a  good 
thing. 

But  now  I  have  everything! 

1  possess  everything,  under  my  hands,  and  I  am 
like  a  person  who,  seeing  a  tree  laden  with  fruit, 

And   having  mounted   a  ladder,   feels  the  thick 
branches  yield  under  his  body. 
169 


THE  TIDINGS   BROUGHT  TO  MARY 

I  must  talk  under  the  tree,  like  a  flute  which  is 

neither  low  nor  shrill !  How  the  water 
Raises   me!    Thanksgiving  unseals  the   stone  of 

my  heart! 

How  I  live,  thus!  How  I  grow  greater,  thus 
mingled  with  my  God,  like  the  vine  and  the 
olive-tree.] 

(The  sun  goes  down.     MARA  turns  her  head 

toward  her  husband  and  looks  at  him. 
JACQUES  HURY:    See  her,  looking  at  me.     See  her 
returning  to  me  with  the  night! 

(Sound  of  a  cracked  bell  near  by.     First  toll. 
ANNE  VERCORS:    It  is  the  little  bell  of  the  sisters 
that  rings  the  Angelus  in  its  turn. 

(Silence.  Then  another  bell  is  heard,  very 
high  up,  at  Monsanvierge,  sounding  in  its 
turn  the  triple  toll,  admirably  sonorous  and 
solemn. 

JACQUES  HURY:    Listen! 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:   A  miracle! 
ANNE  VERCORS  :  It  is  Monsanvierge  come  to  life  again ! 
The  Angelus,  ringing  once  more,  brings  to  the  lis- 
tening heavens  and  earth  the  wonted  tidings. 
PIERRE    DE    CRAON:    Yes,    Voice-of-the-Rose,  God 
is  born! 

(Second  toll  of  the  bell  of  the  sisters. 
It   strikes   the   third   note  just   as   Monsan- 
vierge strikes  the  first. 
170 


ACT  FOUR:    SCENE   FIVE 


ANNE  VERCORS:  God  makes  himself  man. 
JACQUES  HURY:  He  is  dead! 
PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  He  is  risen! 

(Third  toll  of  the  bell  of  the  sisters.     Then 

the  peal. 

Pause.     Then,   nearly   lost   in  the  distance, 
are   heard   the   three   strokes   of  the   third 
toll  up  on  the  heights. 
ANNE  VERCORS:  This  is  not  the  toll  of  the  Angelas, 

it  is  the  communion  bells! 

PIERRE  DE  CRAON:  The  three  strokes  are  gathered 
like  an  ineffable  sacrifice  into  the  bosom  of 
the  Virgin  without  sin. 

(Their  faces  are  turned  toward  the  heights, 
they  listen  as  if  awaiting  the  peal,  which 
does  not  come. 


EXPLICIT. 


171 


' 

c 


1"     1 1 

BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 

uniii 

C0228217?b 


IERSITY  OF   CALIFORHU         LIBRARY   OF  THE   UNIVERSITY  OF   CALIFORNIA 


q  ±  p  ^=^    Q7  *$£ 

I 


VkO 

VERSITY   OF    CALIFORNIA 


LIBRARY    OF   THE   UNIVERSITY   OF   CALIFORNIA 


